The first thing to understand about XOI is that it doesn’t really want to be understood, not in a traditional, genre-box kind of way. The project, based in Thành phố Hồ Chí Minh, revolves almost entirely around one person: Nguyễn Tấn Cường, its songwriter, arranger, producer, and lead vocalist. And while the sound shifts from song to song, the underlying emotion never wavers. There’s a through-line of gloom, weight, and introspection that gives this debut album “The One Who Holds The Flame” its identity, even if the musical influences roam freely.
Call it alt-rock, darkwave, industrial, Americana, or something else—it’ll never quite land right. Which is maybe the point. Cường isn’t chasing a trend or a fanbase. This is a personal record, created on personal terms, and it feels like it.
A One-Man Machine
One of the most impressive things about “The One Who Holds The Flame” is how fully-formed and coherent it sounds, despite the fact that it was almost entirely made by one person. Cường didn’t just write and perform most of the album; he self-produced it, built its world piece by piece, and leaned into a DIY ethic that bleeds through in both the rough edges and the clarity of vision.
It doesn’t sound lo-fi, but it doesn’t sound over-produced either. The mix lets things breathe—layers of synths, vocal effects, guitars, and ambient elements sit beside each other without stepping on one another. There’s personality in how everything is arranged. The space between the notes matters as much as the notes themselves.
A Slow Descent, A Strong Start
The first two tracks, “Make Believe” và “You”, set the tone immediately. There’s a restrained anger underneath, a kind of slow-burning frustration that leaks out through dark guitar progressions and Cường’s unmistakably deep, dramatic vocals. The delivery isn’t theatrical, but it’s commanding, cold, sometimes even whispered, but always emotionally charged.
These songs don’t go for complexity. They’re built on mood, repetition, and patience. But that doesn’t mean they lack power. You can hear it in the restraint—the resentment, là aching tone of something left unsaid, and the confidence not to overexplain.
From Dimly Lit to Full Blaze
The album shifts gears slightly with “The Light of Day”, which brings in a bigger sound without breaking the atmosphere. It’s brighter, relatively speaking, but still loaded with tension. The standout element here is the vocal layering, almost choral in nature, which gives the song an emotional scale much larger than its actual runtime. Add to that an intricate, well-placed guitar solo, and you’ve got one of the more compositionally rich moments on the album.
From there, “You Have Me” goes harder. It opens with a classic rock shuffle but builds into something louder and more chaotic. Cường’s vocals flirt with harsh growls, and it works. It’s not an attempt at full metal, but it doesn’t need to be. The energy is there, and the build-up is effective.
The Flame at the Center
The title track, “The One Who Holds The Flame”, brings the album to its thematic core. There’s a clear post-punk foundation here—tight basslines, snare-heavy drums, and that familiar vocal coldness. But it opens up in the choruses with breakdown-like structures, tension-and-release builds, và crescendos that walk the line between rock and something more dramatic. It’s a smart choice for the title track—if you had to pick one song that represents the album’s vibe and emotional temperature, this would be it.
It’s followed by “The Villain”, the most synth-forward and clearly industrial-inspired track on the album. The Rammstein influence is obvious, especially in the rhythm, vocal phrasing, and stop-start dynamics. It’s big and theatrical, but doesn’t lose focus. The tension rises consistently throughout, and the final build-up hits in just the right way.
A Highlight in the Shadows
Then comes “Scars On My Face”, the most layered and emotionally complex track on the album. It’s cinematic in scope, with symphonic elements, slow-burning melodies, và lyrical vulnerability that hits deeper than most other tracks. For us, this is the standout; it’s where Cường’s vision feels most complete. The production here is especially worth noting: clean but never sterile, expressive but not overdone. It balances intimacy with scale in a way that few tracks manage.
Ending with Finality
The album closes with two acoustic-led pieces: “The Day I Die” và “I’m Dead”. Placing them back-to-back gives the ending a sense of circularity and closure. While they strip back the production and go for more traditional guitar/vocal structures, they still feel like part of the same world. “I’m Dead” in particular lands with a sense of finality, both in tone and theme.
You get the sense that these songs were always meant to end the record. They don’t aim to surprise, but they do feel earned, and they leave a lasting mood rather than a big bang.
Subdued, Intentional, and Deeply Personal
“The One Who Holds The Flame” isn’t flashy. It doesn’t fight for attention. But that’s exactly why it works. There’s intent in every track, a quiet but consistent emotional pull that rewards full-album listening. It’s a dark record, but never lifeless—its pulse is slow, but steady.
It probably won’t land on major playlists. It might not make the rounds on reaction channels. But if you sit with it long enough, you’ll find plenty to appreciate, especially if you value songwriting that doesn’t rely on templates or genre constraints.
This won’t be for everyone, but for those who gravitate to the shadows, who appreciate music made on the artist’s own terms, it’s worth the time.
Rating: 7/10
