Review Summary: bask in the glow, bathe in the gleam
There is a genre sceptic in me that enjoys preaching in philosophical tantrums on the nature of genre intersectionality, how all music to an extent is analytically indistinguishable, how a recording can be dissected on a scientific level and compared molecule by molecule to anything else out there. This insufferable snob is one of my many musical demons that will, against my best wishes, automatically take a piece of work I enjoy and disseminate it like a carcass, so no part goes to waste, but in the process missing the point completely. “This new atmospheric sludge metal album is actually just plain modern metal; I shall think of a few artistic comparisons shortly” says the voice with his nose high. I hate him, he loves me. We have a complicated relationship. He, on the other hand, hates the other voice yelping dominantly in my ears: the needless genre purist. That one I hate just as much. This one is a snob of a polarly opposing nature and worldview. Every tiny spec must be analysed, but it must be sectioned and lumped into a familiar (perhaps obscure, but nevertheless already publicly described) box. “This new atmospheric sludge metal album is actually neo-atmospheric sludge-tinged blackened death metal with crust-punk leanings; I shall explain every term separately shortly” says the voice, grinning with self-perceived superiority.
I ain’t done pondering! Now that we’ve established the unestablishability of genre distinctions of intersectional music, we might as well irrigate the fields of discourse surrounding one artist’s or the other’s contribution to the project. Who did what? Liner notes and interviews report vagueness such as “we all chipped in” or “this or that member came up with a bass line, then we all refined it” etc. Where’s the percentage of Pijn’s contribution, where’s Conjurer’s? This will likely lead nowhere, unless we pedantically overanalyse each artist’s respective styles on their solo outings. Oh boy, here I go bein’ obsessive again.
Both Conjurer and Pijn in their separate respects paddle the thin creek of genre definitions, giving my two inner demons performative Harvard-style debate headaches. Neither conforms to any one particular genre that easily, but both toy around with very specific production and stylistic choices that just beg to be labelled. Most distinctly, Conjurer broke out onto the scene with ferocious performances, deliberate pace and intense fusion of all sorts of metal’s darkest and slowest subtypes. Combine that with co-singer Dan Nightingale’s ability to growl louder than the backing instruments without a microphone and you got yourself a reputation to put others to shame. Their 2018 output ‘Mire’ saw an enormous cross-platform engagement from people, quite unexpectedly for an independent metal band’s debut. Pijn started out the same year with ‘Loss’, a more instrumentally laced, contemplative record that veered into metal only ever so slightly, staying firmly engaged in every major “post-“ prefix genre (hello, Demon N.2).
At surface level, without delving at all into both Conjurer and Pijn’s dense lyrics often balancing thematically somewhere between personal perils and full-blown mythological world-building, both bands like to draw out their songs, giving every tune a spa treatment. That is, of course, if the spa in question stretched its clients, then spiralled them, and finally made them grow monstrous limbs of self-deprecation and artistic self-awareness rarely heard in contemporary metal. Their songs are slow, technical, methodical, often coming off more as off-the-whim
v i b e z aesthetic excursions than traditionally planned out structures. Pijn is typically more inclined to write in instrumental meditations padding time to hallucinatory effect. Similarly, Conjurer is a beast of long-winded harmonies, gaping over harshness of various shades of metal, from black to doomy grey.
Don’t be scared off by either party’s (and their collective) enjoyment of slower paced song-writing, there is plenty progressive development here. The bands compartmentalised their libidos for the slower flow. Mind you, ‘slow’ here refers to the quickness of harmonic or melodic development, not necessarily tempo. The slowest this album gets is perhaps the opening “High Spirits.” Borrowing heavily from Conjurer’s strictly horror-inspired growls and vocal mixing, together with Pijn’s proclivity towards mildly industrial-sounding musical settings, the track resonates as a shout of discomfort of pathologically positivist youth navigating an uneasy post-brutalist landscape. If you’ve ever seen the spomeniks (in translation literally just ‘memorials’) in former Yugoslavia, now mostly overrun with growth, dilapidating gradually, “High Spirits” sonically presents a world so overrun by obsolete machinery and its rotting carcasses laminating the scenery of otherwise pristine nature. Something almost from Simon Stalenhag’s work, but with a more self-empowering optimistic flare. “High Spirits” features both artists’ signature patience, vocal veracity, riffing magnitude, energy transcending distinction (hi there, Demon N.1). There isn’t a moment wasted, there isn’t a drum or bass line oblique. This is a meticulously crafted song, of which my Demon N.2 says is a beautiful cross-study of progressive doom metal and psychedelic post-industrial sludge. Demon N.1 scoffs in the corner.
Following that is a more-or-less equally long, but certainly more subwoofer-oriented riffing track “The Pall,” wherein most artistic intersections lie. See, Conjurer at their most indecisive resort to fuzzy low-tone guitar dangles, while Pijn utilise that at their most cathartic peaks. Now, it collides into an almost-cacophony for one band, and a post-orgasm for the other. Therein lies compartmentalised metallic drowse for Conjurer and a overstated effort on part of Pijn. “The Pall” remains largely the same, untethered by needs for melody. Its structure is that of a power drill rhythmically demolishing a gape in the cosmos. It is scientifically precise and engineered like a space flight. Whereas its follow-up “Endeavour” is a rowdy pedestrian whore. That song takes all that was laid out before, strangles the build-ups and spawns a child prove to destruction and mischief. Two minutes and some pocket change is enough for the song to rowdy up all those desperately awaiting the album to “get going or something” with some quickly punching riffs, screeching metalcore vocals (hello again, Demon N.2).
Before long, we are quickly ripped out into equally buzzing “Sunday”. Its title aside, this is no leisurely stroll or gentle prayer. Although the longest of the four tracks, its start is perhaps the most relentless. There lies a distantly melancholic energy berating the anger and emotional instability progressing the track. This is a truly positivist message to “Bask in the glow” and to “Peer through the shade and try to savour its warmth”. Track’s heavy attitude only forces internal concerns that these affirmations are meant to ease the impact of some upcoming horror or disturbance, but for the time being, they are just good fortunes a-wished. This juxtaposition is omnipresent on the album. There is an innate optimism to the lyrics, being a backdrop to often rustic dramatic instrumentation.
Aw hell. There is another matter to contrast and pin against itself, isn’t there? Not just Marxist analytical critique against genre-oriented over-specifications, or debates of which of the contributing parties had more say in the creative process. There is an admittedly intriguing topic worth discussing of “can a music so vehemently negative-sounding be actually a force of the positive?” This is a staunchly happy-go-lucky album, but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by listening to it. It demands deeper analysis, but also provides a simplistic escape for those seeking either a method of channelling inner anger or, the other way around, accusing all metal (both Demons currently experiencing shortness of breath) of reductive effect and being too negative. This is a Light Metal. A new style (that I am sure has been explored to death by other more obscure acts), the one and only newness that is sure to put to rest all philosophical debates about uber-genre-ness or genre over-labelling. This is new. This is absolute good and optimism. High Spirits.
