AMORPHIS – Skyforger (2009)

Like many underground metal bands, Amorphis have changed career paths on more than one occasion. Beginning as a death metal act in the early 1990’s, the band soon expanded into a more proglike ensemble with 1996’s Elegy, an album that was as much Camel as it was Gothenburg death metal, and an album that was peppered with elements of Finnish heritage, be it through the invocation of the epic poetry like the Kalevala and the Kanteletar, or through the use of folk melodies and instrumentation. The band continued down this road for many years, with varying degrees of success (their crowning work, 1999’s Tuonela, was a regal union of of doom metal and progressive rock, while later albums like Far From The Sun and Eclipse fell short), before returning to their death metal roots in Silent Waters in 2007.

There. Now that you’ve gotten a Brief History of Amorphis, I can move on to Skyforger. So, while it may not top Tuonela as their magnum opus, Skyforger is easily the most interesting thing the band have done in many years, and it’s also the most well-rounded album they’ve done since Elegy; the death metal and prog are kept in check here with stirring folk melodies and the occasional neo-classical passages (listen to the middle portion of Sampo, the introduction of From The Heaven of My Heart or the entirety of My Sun to get an idea of the balance that they’ve kept here). None of this is new ground for the band, but they certainly haven’t tilled it in years, and they’ve never sounded better doing it. It’s encouraging to see the band release an album of this caliber at this stage of their career (for some perspective, does anyone remember what fellow Finns Sentenced turned into before they limped offstage with The Funeral Album? Ugh).

Between Skyforger and Silent Waters, I’d say that Amorphis are easily in the midst of what will hopefully be a long second wind. I admit that I had written the band off after Eclipse, but I’ll also admit that I was wrong to do so. It’s never too late for a truly great band to turn things around, be it from a legendary ensemble like Iron Maiden (Brave New World, then Dance of Death) or from a smaller but nonetheless still important group like Amorphis. Skyforger, more than anything else, is the sound of a band moving forward again. And I can’t wait to follow them.

AMESOEURS – Amesoeurs (2009)

It took a lot of time and even more lineup changes for the first (and presumably, only, considering the band have now broken up) album by French ensemble Amesoeurs to materialize. What was once a mere twinkle in the eyes of Niege (the driving force behind Alcest) has now coalesced into something tangible, and now that I’ve had a chance to absorb it a few times, I can hear all the stress and turmoil that went on behind the scenes in the aimless nature of the album. I don’t mean to say that the material on the album isn’t any good (that’s certainly not the case), but it does go off in many different directions, and it never quite fulfills itself in any of them. While this wouldn’t necessarily be a problem for metal albums of a different nature, it is a problem for Amesoeurs, in that the album is based heavily on creating an atmosphere. And it’s hard to get lost in a record if your invitation keeps changing itself around.

Just about every type of atmospheric metal is on display here at some point or another. Sometimes (not often, though), it feels a bit unconvincing, as is the case with Video Girl a pleasant song that feels a bit too modern to be included with the rest of the material here (despite Niege’s assertion that the album is, in fact, “a kaleidoscopic soundtrack for the modern era”) – the song could plausibly be a Lacuna Coil outtake, and none would be the wiser. Fortunately, the other modern material fares better, like the title track, as well as Les Ruches Malades. Both of these songs feel rather inviting (for underground metal, anyways), but they do carry a darker edge to them, especially when the guitars become more prominent and menacing. Elsewhere on the album, there are odes to Agalloch (the eleven minute closer, Au Crépuscule de Nos Rêves, and the album’s best offering), some brooding, semi-Burzum bleakness (Recueillement) and even pre-Gothenburg death metal (the opening death throes of the ominously titled I XIII V XIX XV V XXI XVIII XIX – IX XIX – IV V I IV). I’m of the opinion that any one of these elements, if they were to be singularly expanded upon into an album of their own, would make for an undeniable metal classic, but in its current state, Amesoeurs is merely a good collection of songs – not terrible, but certainly not a mandatory listen.

It’d be great to hear another, more focused album from these musicians, though I doubt that’ll ever come to pass – the band broke up largely because they couldn’t agree on a unified future path for the group to pursue, so maybe the one album is all for the best. After all, any subsequent albums done in this vein would risk retreading ground that the band have already clearly established here. And no one wants that. It couldn’t hurt for fans of Alcest or Jesu to take a listen to Amesoeurs, but everyone might be better served just listening to the two aforementioned bands instead. And believe me when I say that it damn near kills me to write that.

MAUDLIN OF THE WELL – Part The Second (2009)

Perhaps the most obscure avantgarde metal ensemble (a niche that is itself enormously obscure by definition), maudlin of the Well seemed almost destined to be forgotten by all but a select few, so thoroughly unusual were their compositional theories and the music that came of them (ringleader Toby Driver once stated that maudlin of the Well sought to conjure music from different astral planes by way of astral projection, instead of just writing it. Yeah. Freaky).

After the dual-album onslaught of Bath/Leaving Your Body Map in 2001, the band disbanded, only to semi-reform as Kayo Dot in 2003. Despite sharing many of the same members, Kayo Dot’s music was distinctly different from maudlin of the Well’s; this is due to the fact that Kayo Dot compose their music normally (although don’t let that fool you into thinking that their music is any less harrowing or atypical). Now, as strange as all this might sound, listening to maudlin of the Well, it really does sound as though the music was culled from some other plane of existence. And that’s why, as much as I love Kayo Dot (Choirs of the Eye is one of my favorite albums of all time, and their latest release is growing on me with each listen), I kind of missed maudlin of the Well. Enter Part The Second.

This album (the band’s first in eight years, recorded with money that was donated by fans, who are credited as producers) consists of five previously-existing songs that have been reworked and re-recorded. It’s a stretch to call this a metal release of any sort (despite some languishing heaviness, off-kilter screaming and primal guitar wailing), but then again, you can’t really pin it to any one singular genre anyways, save for progressive anything. So why not metal? Bah, I digress. Anyways, the music on Part The Second seems to fall somewhere between the ensemble as it was circa 2001 and current Kayo Dot; the music has that undefinable, free-form beauty to it, but it’s more tranquil than Bath/Leaving Your Body Map. There’s little fury to be had here, like the kind that graced songs like Bizarre Flower/A Violent Mist or They Aren’t All Beautiful, but it should be noted that fury isn’t a deal-breaker, and what Part The Second does provide is a supernaturally woven, ever-shifting tapestry of musical wonderment, a solid reminder of what made this band so special to begin with.

I hope this isn’t the last we hear from maudlin of the Well. I’m sure that, as a musical entity, it could co-exist alongside Kayo Dot (so different are the approaches to their music), and Part The Second isn’t a one-off release; Driver has stated the band has actually reformed, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility for there to be new motW releases somewhere down the line. I hope there are. I can’t astral project for shit.

BAD PHONE PICTURES – Isis//Pelican//Keelhaul

Two Tons of Metal (and then some)

Hey all!

So, anyone who’s read this more than a few times knows that I’m a metal fan. Though apparently, I’m not a very good one – several key albums slipped through the cracks of this blog, and this is something I’m going to rectify. So, from now until June 23rd, I’m going to be covering a metal album a day (now that I’ve successfully procured all the albums in question – hat tip: Reckless Records and Metal Haven). This is the perfect week to do it, as the two highest profile releases for me next week are new albums from Finnish death legends Amorphis and Polish prog-metallers Riverside. Rokk!

I’m going to kick things off by posting some Bad Phone Pictures of the Isis/Pelican/Keelhaul show from this past Friday. Then, it’s time reviewing. Stay tuned…

SONIC YOUTH – The Eternal (2009)

Few things in music are as undeniable as the fact that Sonic Youth, since their inception in 1981, have done pretty much all that can be done with guitars. And then some. I’m sure there are some out there who’d (foolishly) attempt to dispute this, but I’m fairly certain that any such person is unfamiliar with some of the group’s more radical material (which often gets overlooked by the mainstream press), such as their SYR series (a sequentially-numbered group of experimental recordings that appear on the band’s own label, Sonic Youth Records; this tactic might sound a bit self-indulgent, but the band really had no choice – few, if any labels would dare to release material that is so preternaturally unmarketable). So, what does The Eternal signify for the band who gave us both Daydream Nation and a collaboration with Japanese noise maestro Merzbow? Well, it shows us that, unlike many bands who’ve lasted as long, Sonic Youth are still capable of creating tight, dexterous music that’s full of vigor and surprises. How many other bands who’ve been around for 28 years can you say the same thing about?

There’s no filler to be found on The Eternal, no unnecessary material of any kiond: every song is the way it is because it needs to be. I can imagine these songs in the hands of lesser bands, and it’s not a pretty sight. I can see them shaping and molding the perfectly succinct ruckus of Thunderclap and ruining its power in the process, and I can see them whittling away at Massage The History until it’s nothing but a neutered, four-minute shadow of its former ten- minute self. If done in this fashion, these songs are (admittedly) more radio friendly and approachable, but they’re also remarkably passive. No one wants songs like that coming from the band who continually and tirelessly redefined guitar’s place in modern rock music (even in the face of having most of their custom instruments and vintage gear stolen in July of 1999).

At this rate, I’m not sure if Sonic Youth should ever stop making music. I know Kim Gordon’s pushing 60, and that with every new release, the band is more likely to make a misstep somewhere (something they’ve done few of), but really, The Eternal seems to be another justification that a new Sonic Youth album every two or three years is always a good thing. And I’m glad. After all, who doesn’t love guitar?

DIRTY PROJECTORS – Bitte Orca (2009)

Whoever said that madness and genius are separated only by degrees of success didn’t have the precognition to foresee Bitte Orca. And I can’t really blame them – I mean, I missed it, too. When last we left Dirty Projectors, they took a hardcore classic (Black Flag’s seminal 1981 debut, Damaged) and attempted to reinterpret/reconstruct it from start to finish, despite principal songwriter Dave Longstreth having not heard the record in nearly 15 years. Listening to that album, I couldn’t help but think of Raoul Duke from the film version of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas: “There he goes. One of God’s own prototypes. Too weird to live. Too rare to die.” Now, with Bitte Orca, the band seem as deranged as Duke and Gonzo roaring past Barstow at the beginning of the story, tossing a wide array of musical elements and fragments at each other with a blatant, almost gleeful disregard for logistics, structure or correctness. As a result, Bitte Orca is an album that’s as wildly unpredictable as it is endlessly fascinating.

You can hear bits and pieces of certain musical influences on Bitte Orca – some Architecture in Helsinki here, some later-era Talking Heads there (this makes sense, considering the band’s recent Dark Was The Night collaboration with David Byrne) – but the majority of the album is the way it is because of Longstreth’s seemingly unquenchable thirst for musical feuding. Listen to the way the spasms of Joe Satriani-esque guitar brawl with the unflinching 4/4 drum beat in Temecula Sunrise. Or the way Fluorescent Half-Dome transforms on a dime from weird ambient ballad to a series of staccato vocal stabs, before reverting back to ballad again. Or consider how The Bride (at its beginning and its end) sounds almost like a Devendra Banhart song, save for the middle, wherein something goes horribly (and wonderfully) wrong.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere on this blog, I have a borderline-disturbing affinity for musical that’s anything but normal, so Bitte Orca is right up my alley. I know there’s plenty of people out there who’d be turned off by an album like this; it never sits still, and just when you think you know where it’s going, it switches gears on you, and you’re back to square one. It’s a difficult album to follow, and that’s the quality I admire most about it. If that’s something you’d disagree with, I’d advise you to stay away. I hear Vampire Weekend are working on a new album. Wait for that.

DREDG – The Pariah, The Parrot, The Delusion (2009)

With The Pariah, The Parrot, The Delusion, dredg have crafted one hell of a musical anomaly; at once massively uncommercial and startlingly attractive, they’re practically daring you take sides on an album in which there are no clear sides to take. In a way, it’s commendable that the band managed to not only define this weird, atypical tightrope, but also to have the conviction to walk it for sixty minutes. Considering that dredg were poised to (but never actually did) explode into the mainstream with their previous album, 2005’s Catch Without Arms, makes this all the more confounding. Perhaps The Pariah, The Parrot, The Delusion was initially conceived as a “fuck you” parting gift for their former label, Interscope Records. Or maybe the band really did feel the need to make a concept album based on the Salmon Rushdie essay, A Letter To The Sixth Billionth Citizen (a fact that isn’t too far-fetched, given the band have previously dealt conceptually with sleep paralysis and desert penguins in past albums). Regardless, none of this makes The Pariah, The Parrot, The Delusion any easier to swallow. But the real question is, does it hurt going down? (insert Alanis Morriesette joke here).

It doesn’t. But you’d be forgiven if you initially thought it did. See, if you step back from the bizarrely structured songs, the life-as-thesis-statement lyrics, the dense atmosphere and the odd flow of it all, it’s actually a great record. Not their best, but certainly their most interesting. Again, I give credit to the band for stepping more towards art-rock as opposed to more away from it, because we now can hear The Killers-esque space rock (Information) and postage-themed interludes (the various Stamps of Origin) on the same album. That should give you an idea of what’s in store for you here.

It was never impossible for dredg to make an album like this, and you can definitely tell that it’s a dredg album while listening to it, so they’re not really sacrificing their identity as an ensemble here. But it doesn’t top El Cielo as far as heady concepts are concerned, and it doesn’t top Leitmotif for sheer rock prowess. But should it? I mean, it doesn’t, but is this really stuff I should be focusing on? I’ve listened to the album about five times since purchasing it yesterday, and I’m having a really tough time breaking it down in my mind, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Suffice it to say that if you’re looking for a top 40 album that could just as easily be filed in an esoteric progressive rock collection, well, look no further. dredg have you covered. Seriously. Check the stamps.

MAYBESHEWILL – Sing The Word Hope In Four Part Harmony (2009)

I ended my last maybeshewill review by remarking that, while procession of the final three songs was godlike, it didn’t feel like we were hearing all of what the band were capable of, and that I hoped future albums by the ensemble would showcase this unrealized potential. Now I have no idea if the band actually heard my call or not, but regardless, Sing The Word Hope In Four Part Harmony answers it, and answers it with gusto – the album towers over Not For Want of Trying in every regard. The rhythmic pulses are more complex, the slanted, riff-alicious melodies bounce off each other endlessly, creating tension and harmony in equal measure, the expanded use of samples results in some truly vivacious and stirring juxtapositions, and (perhaps most signifcantly) the album feels more like a holistic experience. Not For Want of Trying was akin to ending a leisurely stroll in the park with a mad, endurance-draining sprint, whereas Sing The Word Hope In Four Part Harmony is calculated and thorough flex of all the post-rock muscles.

The first three songs rocket through with breathtaking precision and unrelenting alt-rock pathos. You Can’t Shake Hand With A Clenched Fist sets the stage for what’s to come with perfect brevity, and before you know it, Co-Conspirators begins, a song that begins somewhat simply before taking a sharp, unsettling detour midway through; the second half of the song is anchored around a Frank Galvin monologue from the 1982 film, The Verdict (I can deduce that the band are fans of Sidney Lumet, given their use of Howard Beale’s “mad as hell” speech in their last album). The band create a perfect musical backdrop to accompany the menace and conviction of the monologue, and it’s something they do repeatedly well on the album. On the very next track, they do it again, this time with a chaotic dinner-table argument from the criminally underrated film I Heart Huckabees. Again, the band don’t try and match the chaos of the sample; they play off it, underscore it, accent it and turn it into something wonderful in the process.

The only real downside of Sing The Word Hope In Four Part Harmony is that (for a post-rock record), it’s relatively brief (the 8 songs clock in at under 40 minutes, and that’s excluding the lengthy silence proceeding the acoustic outro on the title track). But in a weird way, that’s really another of the album’s strengths. Naturally, you want to hear more, so when there is no more, you simply play it again. This is the part of the review wherein I attempt to wrap things up with witty twist, but instead, I’d like to refer you back to the previous sentence. Yeah. That should do it.

SAXON SHORE – It Doesn’t Matter (2009)

I’m sure there are those out there who would probably dismiss Saxon Shore as “just another post-rock band”, and they’d do so purely on the grounds that Saxon Shore are not, in fact, Explosions In The Sky (a band whom I adore, but who are apparently the only acceptable rock-centric instrumental ensemble to listen to in some circles). I’ve got a secret for you – are you ready? Here goes: those people suck. Seriously. Don’t let them date your children. If they happen upon you on the street and ask you for bus fare, run the other way. If they try and tell you that you should be listening to Vivian Girls instead, pelt them with whatever happens to be nearby until they’re just a twitching mass on the floor. Then run. See, the reason these people suck is because they fail to notice the intricacies of this particular genre of music (not that everything that falls into the post-rock category is worth getting excited over – I’m looking at you, From Monuments To Masses). What makes Saxon Shore worth listening to (especially on It Doesn’t Matter) isn’t the fact that they’re mostly vocal-less; it’s that they’re able to move mountains with little more than precise repetition and ambient pads, and drive. Lots and lots of drive.

Much like ambient musicians, Saxon Shore are deft manipulators of texture and timbre. But they’re also quite capable of creating and sustaining a steadily rhythmic rock machine that pushes ever forward until there’s no longer any need for it to do so (it then powers down, and waits…). Often times, the band do both simultaneously, which results in some songs of unyielding power and beauty (Tokyo 4:12am and the awe-inspiring opener, Nothing Changes). Of course, on past albums, Saxon Shore sometimes allowed their reach to exceed their grasp, as is the case with the seventen-plus album closer Secret Fire/Binding Light (a song that spends over ten minutes gradually reducing the resonance and strength of a steady from near-overpowering to almost nothingness). Saxon Shore’s gifts as musicians are best applied in a more structured environment, and in smaller doses – Sunn O))) would probably be able to make such a thing captivating, but Saxon Shore turn it into an endurance test that’s not really worth taking. Fortunately, this is the only time the album falls of the rails. Everything else is magnificent.

While it doesn’t top Mono’s latest gift from the gods, Hymn To The Immortal Wind, it’s close behind it. Anyone interested in (mostly) instrumental music would do well to listen to this. It’s easily Saxon Shore’s most expansive and most rewarding release to date.