“FMS,” the latest single by Somnolence, is less a song and more a ritual – an immersive act of catharsis forged in the crucible of metalcore, progressive metal, and djent. Laden with existential gravity, “FMS” confronts a rarely voiced emotional paradox: the ache for healing contorted by the belief that one hasn’t earned it. This is music as confrontation, both sonic and spiritual.

From the outset, “FMS” erupts with tectonic force – low-tuned guitars churn through polyrhythmic precision, underscored by blast-heavy drums and an unrelenting wall of sound that alternates between syncopated stabs and tidal crashes. Somnolence demonstrates total command over dynamic contrast; the track collapses into brief moments of spectral ambience before building back into roaring despair. Every note feels purposeful, every silence deafening.

The mix is modern and punishingly clear – a testament to production that understands not just how to sound heavy, but how to wield heaviness as emotional language. Layers of dissonant guitars and whispered samples flicker beneath the surface, giving the track an almost psychological dimension. There is a clarity in the chaos, a precision in the pain.

“FMS” explores a deeply internal form of trauma: the guilt that festers when one compares their own suffering to the more visible scars of others. It’s a hymn for those who question their right to ask for help – the ones who whisper their pain rather than scream it. The lyrics, delivered in a mix of guttural howls and agonized chants, don’t offer answers. Instead, they circle around doubt, echoing the voice in one’s head that insists: “You haven’t earned your suffering.”

Imposter syndrome is not usually framed in the context of mental health crises, but “FMS” does so unflinchingly. It’s about feeling fraudulent in your own grief, invalidated by your own reasoning. It speaks to anyone who’s ever felt like their pain was second-tier.

Vocals in “FMS” are a visceral force – not merely screamed but exorcised. The lead vocals switch from subterranean growls to scorched, mid-range shrieks that cut through the mix like exposed nerve endings. In quieter moments, whispered or processed vocal fragments create a haunting atmosphere, suggesting inner dialogue or intrusive thoughts. There is no performative anger here; only raw, unadorned anguish.

What’s most notable is the restraint – the emotional control exercised in delivery. Rather than going full throttle throughout, the vocal dynamics reflect the psychological ebb and flow of a crumbling psyche. This performance doesn’t plead for attention – it drags you into its orbit.

Somnolence embraces anonymity not as a gimmick, but as a philosophy. In their own words: “Ask not about the person behind the song, but reflect instead on how the song connects to you.” This ethos reorients the focus from author to listener, insisting that the art matters more than the artist. It’s a rare, almost sacred approach in a music world driven by personality.

Musically, the operate at the intersection of metalcore’s emotional immediacy and the cerebral complexity of djent and progressive metal. But what sets Somnolence apart is the intention behind their sound – not to impress, but to awaken. Their work isn’t just technical; it’s theological, poetic, broken.

“FMS” is a brutal, introspective elegy to internalized suffering – a track that doesn’t seek to heal, but to name the wound. For listeners of bands like Northlane, Loathe, Sleep Token, or Silent Plant, Somnolence will feel familiar in sound but singular in intent. This is not music that flatters. It excavates.

And in the wreckage it leaves behind, it dares you to ask: What pain have I denied myself the right to feel?

This isn’t a song you listen to once. This is a song you carry with you.