Prince Of Failure – Prince Of Failure
Prince Of Failure – Prionce Of Failure
Kscope
Release date: 19/06/26
Review by: Jon Deaux
8.2/10
I have visited darker places before, but none with such an ambience.
Some records welcome you inside. They invite you to settle down with the kettle on.
Prince of Failure holds the door open and lets you stumble into the house by accident.
Right from the get-go, there is this sense that you aren’t where you are supposed to be. It’s not because you’re unwanted or unsafe. Just the opposite. It’s that you know this place, but it isn’t the same anymore. As familiar as it is, it’s also profoundly wrong somehow.
Prince of Failure is an incredibly intimate record, made by Tompkins and Ortiz alone. There are no diversions, no unnecessary decorations. No other voices. Ortiz is responsible for the guitars, electronics, the texture, and architecture of the sound. And Tompkins? He takes centre stage. What comes out isn’t so much music as conversation caught by accident on tape.
Prince of Failure isn’t an album that tells a story.
It’s an album you sit down across from.
In its essence, the record explores the very relationship people try to avoid all their lives: the relationship with the little monster who lives inside their mind and reminds them of their failures long after everyone else forgot. The one that always drops by at three am, accompanied by a PowerPoint presentation called ‘Everything You’ve Ever Done Wrong.’ Most stories about inner struggles try to fight. This one invites you for tea. The former isn’t particularly scary.
The latter? It’s terrifying. Monsters are easy. Either you kill them or you hide from them. It’s harder when it’s your own handwriting on its business card.
‘The Glass Veil’ is a piece that exists on the border between wakefulness and sleep. It drifts in and out of focus like distant memories of themselves. Nothing makes a sudden entrance or rushes past you. The song serves as a portal, ushering you into a reality where uncertainty is outnumbered by certainty.
‘Dream Stealer’ is when Prince of Failure starts beating. Built around intense electronics, it radiates a persistent sense of unease that’s hard to shake off. And Tompkins is doing the same here. He’s not singing so much as he is negotiating with his inner voices.
It’s uncomfortable. Not because it’s grim.Because it’s familiar. Everyone knows how it feels to shoot oneself in the foot. Everyone knows how it feels to sabotage one’s best chance at success.
‘Dream Stealer’ says this out loud and doesn’t bother apologising.
‘Moonlight’ offers a brief reprieve from the dark mood. A delicate synth plays along with one of the most touching vocal performances of Tompkins. The track is like catching a glimpse of someone smiling in the middle of a nightmare. It’s beautiful. Not because it’s a solution. But because it’s the proof that there’s still something beautiful in this world. And it’s the relief that lasts as long as an average coffee break.
‘Phantom’ drags the listener back to the uncertain terrain, and the atmosphere becomes more tense. The rhythm becomes steadier. Guitars sting. And the feeling of tension becomes inevitable. This is the sound of someone turning around and looking the monster straight in the eyes.
It’s unfortunate, but the monster looks a lot like him.
‘Fragile Crown’ is a brutal look at perfectionism and all the damage it brings to people. Some put on crowns. Some spend their whole lives wearing chains.
Tompkins knows the difference.
The scale is widened considerably with ‘Saturn’s Shadow.’ With new electronic elements and richer textures, the album takes on the proportions of something bigger, even cinematic at times. Without losing any emotional intensity, the track manages to convey this atmosphere of impending doom. Ortiz is the hero here.
Every arrangement is perfect. Space is created for the music, but the sense of pressure remains.
The song perfectly describes a specific sort of exhaustion that comes with growing up. Not collapsing under it. Not falling down.
Simply accepting that there will always be one more plate on one’s table.
‘Silent Throne’ is one of the tracks reaching an emotional peak. And the song does it effortlessly. There is a resigned acceptance running throughout. But there’s also a hint of something more grown-up than despair. The knowledge that some dreams don’t exist in reality. That some obligations were never meant to be assumed.
Growing older is funny.
At eighteen, you think you’re meant for great things.
At forty, you’re glad your password still works.
Then comes ‘Horizon’ and the introduction of Kristyn Hope’s vocals. It’s the first sign that the darkness can be pierced. The absence of light no longer means blindness.
It feels earned, and that’s significant.
Hope isn’t a thing worth mentioning until after the effort has been made.
Anybody can write the happy ending.
What’s difficult is making people believe they made it to that point in the first place.
‘Palace of Echoes’ is a short, reflective interlude. While exploring the emotional territory, it does it skillfully. It’s like walking through an abandoned building at night and hearing faint echoes of long-finished conversations.
Next comes the title track.
‘Prince of Failure’ is the emotional heart of the entire record. Fortunately, it’s neither triumphant nor hopeful. There is no triumphant speech. There are no words of forgiveness. There is no uplifting message. Instead, it finds something far more relatable. Acceptance.
The understanding that failure isn’t a defining feature, nor a nemesis, nor a curse.
It’s just an essential aspect of existence. And something people learn about for decades of their lives.
If they ever do. ‘Heartless’ is the return to the previous tone. More electronic beats, but underneath them lays another exploration of vulnerability and exhaustion. And it doesn’t feel self-righteous. Rather, it’s brutally honest. Exhaustion doesn’t make you weak. Sometimes it makes you tired because you had too much to carry on your shoulders.
Finally, ‘Jaded Mantra’ provides the closure. There’s exhaustion, yes, but also relief. It’s important to note that the conflict isn’t won. It’s comprehended.
And that distinction means the world.
Because Prince of Failure doesn’t make any promises of growth and transformation. It won’t teach you how to become better at anything. Neither will it tell you how everything happens for a reason. It won’t claim the Universe is watching over your interests.
Frankly, after this, nobody will ever convince me that the Universe is qualified for a group chat.
What the record does is offer something rare and valuable.
Honesty.
Honesty about one’s fears.
About regrets.
And about one’s mistakes.
And how they aren’t necessarily wrong.
They’re just louder than they should have been.
Long after the last track fades, this truth will stick with you. Every replay will uncover new aspects of the production and new nuances in Tompkins’ performance. Every revisit will find something new in the lyrics and in the way they’re delivered.
Some records grab your attention.
Some earn it.
Prince of Failure does neither.
It only waits.
Patiently.
Like a shadow in the corner of the room.
Track List:
-
- The Glass Veil – Intro
- Dream Stealer
- Moonlight
- Phantom
- Fragile Crown
- Saturn’s Shadow
- Silent Throne
- Horizon feat. Krystyn Hope
- Palace of Echoes – Interlude
- Prince of Failure
- Heartless
- Jaded Mantra
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