Review Summary: Jagged and obtuse, Austin Lunn deconstructs black metal's biggest revelation into its disparate identities.
Despite releasing a handful of albums that drank from the same atmospheric black-metal well, every Panopticon record has felt like a revelation. More than folk-tinged black metal, Panopticon albums feel like the closest thing to “genuine” that the genre is likely to ever produce.
Dripping with that Kentucky bluegrass charm, Lunn's music is full of believable and heartfelt influences that, in spite of it all, never feels like a forced novelty. Such inspired feelings are rare in black metal, a genre which sees bands from the American Midwest, for example, emulate Scandinavian hell-raisers from the 80s/90s whose influences they themselves have never experienced. This is what makes Panopticon's music so engrossingly honest. Its disparate elements melding together seamlessly, creating something entirely new but still wholly familiar, feel real. It’s charming, rustic, and above all else, sincere.
As is tradition,
The Scars of Man on the Once Nameless Wilderness retains the blue collar sensibilities of Lunn’s most recent work as he’s clickin’ and pickin’ his way around a standard black metal back-drop. This time, the cathartic beauty is replaced with a colder and rustier take on his naturalist themes. It’s just as organic and sweeping as usual, but the production is much harsher and scathing; the traditionally distant vocals are even more otherworldly and nearly ineffable. Even the moments of levity are met with the cawing of crows and the cracking and burning of wood. It reeks of darker moods even when violins swell and the guitars fade. It’s black metal by way of Panopticon, with more drama and emotion than ever before.
The format feels different on
The Scars of Man on the Once Nameless Wilderness despite the overall familiarity. It's much "blacker" than anything Panopticon has released since 2009's
Collapse. Riff heavy songs like "Blatimen" chug only with a sense of urgency, pummeling through a comparatively short run time. These songs run headlong into one another, offering up long stretches of uncompromising American black metal. It's a surprising turn for Lunn, who until now was unfolding a clear vision of where his music was headed.
But wait, there's more!
The Scars of Man on the Once Nameless Wilderness is actually a double album (or two different albums?) Like a psyche ripped in half, the first part is Panopticon's black metal side while the second part see's his more bluegrass identity gain full autonomy. Thematically it is still a black metal record. The influence of nature and death are ever present, with a bleak atmosphere blanketing each piece. At its core, however, it is folk record. It’s ghostly and cold; hollow but full of deep tones and rich sounds. Think more Giles Corey than Bon Iver or Fleet Foxes.
It's a novel idea which will no doubt be met with wild adoration or confusion and disdain. In a lot of ways both sides don't succeed to the same degree as when they are apart. Yet Panopticon, who is assuredly one of the most important voices in American metal, deserves unyielding praise for such a gutsy disintegration of his brand. After all, black metal is easy. Rinsing and repeating 30 year old tropes has been working, and working quite
well. Instead of leaning on said tropes, as well as his achievements, Panopticon has deconstructed his decade spanning identity into something unexpected.
The Scars of Man on the Once Nameless Wilderness, with its large scale changes, uneven tone, and jarring transition still manages to impress despite the internal conflict within. The uncompromising folk-black metal side is polished and refined, albeit with a little less character, while the rustic folk side is wonderfully eerie, even if a little aimless. Regardless of the trade offs made in order for such an album to work,
The Scars of Man on the Once Nameless Wilderness will stand as one of 2018’s most unique and fully realized metal records.
