Ethereal Metal

Ryan Murray | Co-Owner | Chief Editor | Contributor | Photographer

r.m.music84@gmail.com

Story Of The Year has never been a band that needed to announce their return. They’ve never vanished long enough for silence to define them. Instead, their career has unfolded like a long conversation with their audience—sometimes loud, sometimes bruised, sometimes defiant, but always honest. A.R.S.O.N., releasing Friday, February 13th via SharpTone Records, doesn’t interrupt that conversation. It deepens it. I found myself immediately drawn into the album, feeling the urgency and energy in a way that reminded me why I fell for this band in the first place.

There’s a certain gravity that comes with a band carrying more than two decades of shared history, and Story Of The Year wears that weight without letting it slow them down. From the moment Page Avenue exploded into the post-hardcore consciousness in 2003, they helped shape a sound that fused raw aggression with massive, emotionally charged choruses. “Until the Day I Die” wasn’t just a breakthrough single—it became a declaration of purpose. Touring alongside Linkin Park, My Chemical Romance, Deftones, Fall Out Boy, and The Used cemented their reputation as a band whose studio energy could not only survive the stage, but thrive there. The connection between Story Of The Year and their audience was never manufactured; it was built show by show, scream by scream. Listening to A.R.S.O.N., I felt that connection again, as if the band had reached across time and reminded me why these songs have always mattered.

That connection is the foundation A.R.S.O.N. stands on. The title—short for All Rage Still Only Numb—isn’t a slogan or a gimmick. It’s a feeling. One that runs quietly beneath the surface of adulthood, responsibility, loss, and perseverance. Dan Marsala has described the phrase as something that emerged organically from the opening track, but it quickly became clear it represented something larger: frustration without spectacle, anger without easy release, and the strange emotional paralysis that comes from carrying too much for too long. I couldn’t help but notice how this tension mirrors my own experiences listening to bands that grow with you—how certain music captures life in a way that no words alone can.

The album wastes no time igniting that feeling. Gasoline (All Rage Still Only Numb) opens the record already engulfed in flame, setting the tone with chaotic swagger and restless urgency. It doesn’t feel like an introduction so much as a collision, dragging the listener headfirst into the emotional core of the record. There’s a volatility here that feels intentional rather than reckless—a controlled burn that immediately makes it clear this isn’t Story Of The Year revisiting old ground. This is them standing firmly in the present.

That intensity spills directly into Disconnected, which takes the isolation implied by the title and turns it outward, reshaping it into something communal. The explosive opening gives way to a chorus built for collective release, the kind that feels designed to be shouted back at the band by a room full of people who understand exactly what it’s trying to say. Story Of The Year has always had a gift for transforming loneliness into something shared, and Disconnected leans fully into that strength. I was struck by how effortlessly the album makes me want to sing along, even on the first listen, as if I were already part of that room.

Rather than letting the energy plateau, the album shifts shape with See Through, a track that balances melody and aggression with the kind of precision that longtime fans will immediately recognize. There’s an ambition here that echoes the band’s more experimental eras, but it never feels indulgent. Instead, it sharpens the emotional edge, pulling tension tighter rather than releasing it too soon. That sense of restraint continues into Fall Away, which carries a feeling of motion—like trying to outrun something internal while knowing it’s always just behind you. It’s propulsive without being chaotic, heavy without being overwhelming.

The pacing of A.R.S.O.N. is one of its quiet strengths, and that becomes especially clear as the album moves into 3 am and Into The Dark. These tracks feel less concerned with immediate impact and more focused on atmosphere and emotional weight. 3 am captures the mental spiral of its namesake hour, when thoughts grow louder and defenses fall away, while Into The Dark leans into tension rather than resolving it outright. There’s a confidence here that comes from experience—Story Of The Year no longer feels the need to hit at full force every second to make their point.

That confidence carries directly into My Religion, one of the album’s most immediate and memorable moments. Built on catchy acoustic patterns and an undeniable hook, the track taps into the band’s melodic instincts without sounding like a throwback. There’s a warmth to it, a familiarity that feels earned rather than borrowed, and the hook settles in effortlessly without tipping into nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It’s the kind of song that reminds you how effortlessly Story Of The Year can still write something that sticks.

Halos pulls the album back toward darker territory, balancing melody with an undercurrent of danger that never fully dissipates. Even at their most melodic, there’s always something sharp beneath the surface, and that tension has become a defining trait of the band’s modern identity. That emotional push and pull continues through Good for Me / Feel so Bad, a track that lives in contradiction, never fully settling into one emotional state. It’s reflective, conflicted, and quietly heavy in a way that sneaks up on you rather than announcing itself.

One of the most striking moments on A.R.S.O.N. arrives with Better Than High, which strips the band’s sound back to its most vulnerable core. Opening with just acoustic guitar and Marsala’s light yet hearty vocals, touched with subtle reverb, it immediately sets itself apart. Mild synth textures add atmosphere without breaking the intimacy, allowing the song’s emotional weight to carry it forward. It’s the lightest track on the album sonically, but that restraint only makes it hit harder. There’s nowhere to hide here, and Story Of The Year doesn’t try to. I found myself quietly holding my breath through this song, caught between the simplicity of its delivery and the devastation in its weight.

The album closes with I Don’t Wanna Feel Like This Anymore, a devastatingly beautiful final statement that feels less like an ending and more like an exhale. The lyrics—“I don’t wanna feel like this anymore… ‘Cuz I’m barely hangin’ on… I’ve been a mess since you’ve been gone”—land with a quiet force that lingers long after the song fades. It doesn’t try to sum up the band’s entire career, but it carries pieces of everything they’ve been: vulnerability, melody, heaviness, and emotional honesty woven together naturally. It’s a closer that doesn’t demand resolution—it simply tells the truth. I left the album feeling simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated, the kind of rush only Story Of The Year can conjure.

There’s a maturity to A.R.S.O.N. that doesn’t soften its impact—it sharpens it. Story Of The Year doesn’t dilute their intensity with age; they refine it, turning experience into precision and emotion into weight. This isn’t a band chasing relevance or reliving old glories, but one that understands exactly who they are—and why every record, every lyric, and every show matters more now than it ever has.

Much of what makes A.R.S.O.N. resonate so deeply lies in the chemistry behind it. Ryan Phillips entered the writing process with close to 100 ideas, built over time and refined on the road, and the band carefully chose the material that felt most honest rather than most strategic. Working again with producer Colin Brittain, Story Of The Year taps back into their original energy without chasing it. The production is clear, focused, and powerful, allowing Marsala’s voice to cut with both grit and grace, Josh Wills’ drumming to pulse with urgency, and the guitars and bass to carve out space between melody and menace. I can honestly say this is a Story Of The Year record I could listen to on repeat, and it would still hit me differently every time.

Story Of The Year has always specialized in intense, passionate, confessional compositions that inspire and empower. Songs like “The Antidote,” “Miracle,” “The Ghost of You and I,” “Anthem of Our Dying Day,” “Take Me Back,” and “Real Life” didn’t just soundtrack a generation—they helped people endure it. A.R.S.O.N. doesn’t attempt to recreate those moments. It stands alongside them, offering something equally honest for a different chapter of life.

Story Of The Year endures not just as a band, but as a shared community with their fans—a promise of persistence, connection, and belief. A.R.S.O.N. proves that promise still burns.

Until the day I die, indeed.

Verdict: 4.5/5