Album Review: A Floor Below – The Other Side Of Zero: I & II (Double LP)
With The
Other Side Of Zero: I & II, A Floor Below have released not just an
album, but a deeply introspective journey across a double LP that defies genre
and dives unapologetically into the shadows of the human psyche. This is not
music crafted for trends or playlists. It’s an open wound, a reflection, and an
act of collective healing, carried out through sound that is both expansive and
intimate.
The first volume, The Other Side Of Zero: I, opens with tracks like "On Broken Wings" and "Aspirate," immediately drawing the listener into a sonic realm where emotional vulnerability is as present as the distorted guitar tones. "My Humanity" and "Version Of You" highlight the band’s skillful balancing act—mixing djent-inspired technical riffs with deeply emotive vocals and lyrics. There's a rawness here, not in terms of unfinished production, but in the sense that nothing is hidden or polished for the sake of comfort. This is music that names the ache, sits with it, and dares the listener to do the same.
“Paralyzed by Comfort” serves as a centerpiece in the first half—its title alone encapsulating one of the key themes A Floor Below returns to repeatedly: the paradox of safety and emotional stagnation. The band doesn’t just make you hear the tension—they make you feel it in your chest. And the closing track of the first LP, “The Other Side Of Zero,” acts almost like a bridge to its darker, more aggressive twin.
Volume II, The
Other Side Of Zero: II, turns up the emotional and sonic intensity. If the
first album lingers in the silence of isolation, the second speaks through
clenched teeth and flared riffs. "Locked Up Tight" launches the
listener into a more oppressive headspace, where anxiety coils tight around
every beat. “The Bleeding Edge” and “Waste of Human” bring in the heaviest
elements of the band’s sound—guttural riffs, punchy djent rhythms, and vocals
that crack not from overproduction, but from the genuine strain of emotion. And
yet, even at their heaviest, the band never loses sight of their emotional
compass.
"Your Absolution (Remix)" and the closer “Piece-less Puzzle” offer moments of almost unbearable reflection. These aren’t clean resolutions, but acknowledgments that healing doesn’t come with an easy chorus or a climactic crescendo. A Floor Below respects their audience too much to offer false hope. Instead, they hold space—space for the listener to exist in discomfort, to recognize themselves in the pain, and maybe, to find connection in the shared experience.
The
production choices are deliberate throughout the double LP. Guitars are both
serrated and clean, depending on the mood. Drums breathe with the songs instead
of dominating them. The mix honors each sonic layer without suffocating the
emotion underneath. Most of all, the vocals remain the emotional anchor of the
project. Whether sung, screamed, or whispered, the words come through with a
sincerity that’s difficult to fake.
What truly
sets The Other Side Of Zero: I & II apart, however, is the band’s
total refusal to fit into a singular genre box. There are echoes of metal,
djent, post-rock, acoustic introspection, and hard rock—but none of it feels
forced. Rather, the band moves through styles as naturally as we move through
emotional states. Sadness gives way to rage, which collapses into numbness,
which eventually opens to a flicker of hope. That emotional elasticity is
mirrored perfectly in the sound.
This double
LP is not just for fans of heavy music—it’s for anyone who has ever felt
silenced by their own pain. In A Floor Below’s music, that silence is given
form, rhythm, and release. The band has built something rare: an emotionally
resonant, genre-defying odyssey that confronts inner turmoil not with despair,
but with a kind of quiet, defiant courage.
The
Other Side Of Zero
doesn’t ask you to understand it. It asks you to feel it—and that,
perhaps, is its greatest achievement.
Rating : 4/5
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