Contemplation of Infinity by Take Me Far Away: A Prog Rock Odyssey That’ll Mess With Your Head
Alright, buckle up, because Contemplation of Infinity is one wild ride through space, time, and whatever the hell else these Russian prog-rock wizards were smoking in 2016. Released under "Not On Label" (which kinda fits their anti-establishment vibe), this album doesn’t just push boundaries—it obliterates them. And yeah, it’s as heavy as it sounds.
First off, let’s talk about the lineup. You’ve got Igor Ivanov laying down basslines that feel like they’re crawling outta some black hole, while Andrey Balitskiy pounds the drums like he’s trying to summon Thor himself. Then there’s Alexandr Mutin and Dmitriy Kshanovskiy shredding guitars so hard your ears might start bleeding—but in a good way. Olga Gavrilova on keyboards adds layers of cosmic weirdness, and Margarita Chernova’s viola? Dude, she makes strings sound like they’re screaming at you from another dimension.
Now, onto the tracks. The whole album slaps, but two songs stuck with me like gum on a shoe: "Rising" and "Ascendeo Ad Astra."
“Rising” kicks things off with this slow-burn intro that feels like waking up in zero gravity. It builds tension until BAM—you’re hit with this wall of sound that’s equal parts beautiful and brutal. It’s not just music; it’s an experience. Like, I swear my heart skipped a beat when those guitar solos kicked in. Feels like climbing a mountain only to realize you’re floating off into space instead of reaching the peak. Wild stuff.
Then there’s “Ascendeo Ad Astra,” which translates to “rise to the stars.” This track is pure chaos wrapped in melody. It starts off all calm and dreamy, lulling you into a false sense of security before exploding into this frantic mess of riffs and rhythms. By the end, you’re left gasping for air, wondering what the hell just happened. Honestly, if this song doesn’t make you wanna grab a spaceship and ditch Earth, nothing will.
Other standouts include “Star Maze,” which sounds like Pink Floyd got lost in a video game, and “Agnus Dei,” where the band dials back the insanity just enough to remind you they can actually write emotional music too. But honestly, every track has its own flavor of madness. No filler here—just killer.
So why does this album stick with me? Maybe it’s how unapologetically raw it feels. These guys aren’t trying to impress critics or win Grammys—they’re making music for themselves, and damn if that doesn’t shine through. Or maybe it’s the fact that listening to this feels less like hearing a band play and more like witnessing some kind of intergalactic ritual.
But here’s the kicker: after blasting this album for days, I realized something. We spend so much time chasing infinity—in our goals, dreams, even relationships—but maybe we’re looking at it wrong. Infinity isn’t something you reach; it’s something you live inside. Weird flex, I know, but hey, blame the viola.
