Review Summary: heart rot
Crowhurst’s newest LP, simply titled
II, is an emblem of nervosity. It’s an odd state of mind for artists so prolific. Really, take a look at their track record. They have dozens of releases, and Bandleader Jay Gambit’s rolodex is probably overflowing with musicians he’s collaborated with:
Tanner Garza,
Jason Crumer,
Black Leather Jesus, and
Water Torture, to name(drop) a few. His collaborative nature does more than to simply boost his cred; Gambit’s sound has been steeped in noise music, even if his brand of off-kilter black metal isn’t overtly drenched in it. If anything, Crowhurst lean into an interesting post-punk/black metal hybrid, occupying a niche that is probably under-utilized.
II features raw production, industrial-tinged programming, vocals that shift between desperate shrieks and brooding baritone, and a varied conciseness in composition. At times, Gambit almost slips through the pitfalls of so many unsigned musicians with more stray ideas than holistic vision; yet, it’s impressive how organically he, guitarist Matron Thorn (of
Ævangelist), and drummer/bassist Andy Brignell (of
Caïna) shift between styles.
A key factor in
II's success is how certain moments represent a creative process where Gambit struggles with becoming his own audience. “Take This Pain Away” has a furrowed-brow despair to it, matured by long-term coping. The post-punk nosedive “No Saviors” is aggressive and guttural, yet pensive and distracted, somehow managing to lurch menacingly and cower in torture under the armageddon drones. “Fractured Lung”, an album highlight and a bastard of black metal and atmospheric sludge, conjures a maelstrom that takes on a murky, vapour-like quality - like a cloud of mud. Lengthy closer “Dried Blood and Old Earth” occupies a nebulous space where it’s difficult to tell whether it blooms or festers. Taking up roughly forty percent of the album’s runtime, it takes the form of subtle mental detouring. There’s an astral quality to it, like glancing at the sky while willfully oblivious of a nuclear fallout. The suspense created by the guitar gets a bit tedious, but the auxiliary effects are rich: ear-tickling cymbals, doom metal overtones, and psychological disconnect. Themes of mental anguish already typify this realm of music to the point where it’s almost truistic to bring it up, but
II isn’t really defined by torment. It refuses to be. Its greatest artistic asset is a deep-seated feeling of unease that constantly buries itself in beauty while it rots from the inside out.
