Parisian darkwave prophet Anton Steinbock surges forth with his brooding solo project Anton, spinning sorrowful synth symphonies since 2021. Drawing from the bleak brilliance of Joy Division and Lebanon Hanover’s frostbitten romanticism, Anton invokes an aching intensity threaded with the seductive sorrow of existential yearning.
Anton’s solo work began in earnest with the 2024 debut EP, Volcan (Detriti Records), a collection that erupted onto the underground scene and propelled the project into compelling live performances alongside bassist Ewen Dinam, drummer Ancelin Dinam, and guitarist Sofiane Brahmi.
March 2025 saw the release of a follow-up EP, Glacier (Icy Cold Records), which found Anton refining his sound into a tight, fierce trio featuring guitarist Paul Dupont and bassist Dinam, plunging listeners into deeper emotional exile and stark introspection.
Now, both EPs are united as one cohesive album — Glacier / Volcan, released by the Parisian label Icy Cold Records. Available as a meticulously packaged 3-panel digipak, the album also receives a limited-edition pressing of 300 copies on black vinyl, offering fans the complete narrative arc of Anton’s evocative darkwave vision.
The record opens with Fer Rouge throwing us straight into the fissure—French sighs skimming German knife‑edge phrasing, where abandonment and intimacy grapple in the same darkened alley. Early‑Ultravox echoes shimmer beneath the scuffle, and when the final synth stabs fade, we’re left clutching ghosts, unwilling to inherit their hollow husks.
From that shattered pulse, we tip into the mesmerizing melody Taudis, which has the chill of discordant synths coursing through its circuitry. Here, ardent vocals illustrate how overthinking can ossify into ice. Doubts drop like anvils, every breath crystallises, and the song locks the listener inside their own mind‑made mausoleum: escape is visible yet eternally out of reach.
Gefährlich, a title that translates from German into Dangerous, follows. It is a buoyant bass-driven post-punk track whose heartbeat hammers with high‑wire devotion. The melody swirls with guitars and quivering vocals. Each repeated plea drips with dread, love balanced on a razor’s edge. The singer shrinks with every declaration, clinging to loyalty even as the cliff crumbles beneath their feet.
Rien opens while sighing choral synths give way to horn-like guitar sounds, conjuring a medieval, ritualistic atmosphere. The Bowie, John Foxx-like new wave vocals powerfully circle an icy flame, desire dancing around a partner impervious to heat. Obsession swells, resentment crackles, and equilibrium tilts ever toward turmoil: an endless orbit with no gravitational grace.
Sans Pitié clanks its chains next. Reminiscent of Keats’ famous poem, it delivers a more detached vocal but is nevertheless captivating. Love is reduced to lock‑step obsession. Autonomy evaporates, identity erodes, and the track presses until personal borders buckle under relentless possession.
With its gripping guitar-driven melody weaving around a catchy bassline and sharp, icy synths, Rester peels back the layers of nostalgia, vividly capturing the sting of betrayal while embracing individuality over shared despair. The promise is clear and clean: remain true, leave rot behind, let the past petrify on its own.
With darkwave bass synths, propulsive drums, and guitar motifs, L’Autre Destination drifts in next, a train moving along its tracks, at moments, stalled between stations. Love letters loop unanswered, hands stretch through static, and passion hovers in that hushed space before arrival; a voyage caught in customs, baggage spinning but never claimed.
The collection of songs culminates in a haunting synth dirge that gradually quickens its pace, weaving a romantic lament that seduces with resonant guitar riffs and a rippling bass synth. “We Can Never Be Apart” brilliantly brings this journey to a close, sharing the striking vision of a hall of cracked mirrors. Here, body and psyche fragment; grotesque images of consumption dance with a fervent longing for wholeness. The poignant plea for repair echoes, yet remains unanswered as the final fragments fade into silence.
Listen to Glacier/Volcan below and order the album here.
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