Review Summary: The Dank and the Wank
With
May You Be Held, Sumac have released an album that is both exciting and frustrating. At its centre are two tracks (the title track and
Consumed) which could rank among Sumac’s best work. Both are compositions of great intricacy, building and escalating slowly amongst a barrage of dissonant and sludgy guitars, driven by a thundering bass/drum-presence and utilising positively confusing flourishes of rhythm that can make it difficult figuring out when exactly to bang your head. A good example of this are the title track’s labyrinthine sections, winding endlessly before thrusting the listener back into familiar territory by repetition of a motif. This particular track provides some cathartic moments as well as passages of testosterone-laden, stupidly heavy and almost degenerate riffage, before segueing into a tremendously satisfying guitar solo that reminded me somewhat of early-era Helmet Page Hamilton, only ten times noisier.
Consumed starts out making crafty use of literally monotonous guitars and spinning from them a remarkably heavy section. After a brief intermission the track spews forth a monstrous, but ever-shifting riff, some of whose chord shapes are reminiscent of a slowed down Deathspell Omega, only to give way to an infernal climax with walls of fast-paced drums, bass and (noise-)guitar crashing against each other with an intensity that is almost unheard of. I dare say, at its best moments, the listener is witnessing here a Metal hybrid truly inspired and fresh sounding.
What is more, the production is crisp and organic, with every instrument given appropriate space in the mix. Not that we didn’t already know this, but Nick Yacyshyn’s drumming is endlessly accomplished and Brian Cook’s bass is more than a mere presence. No small part of the reason this album and band can be so impossibly heavy is surely due to this extraordinary rhythm section.
Aaron Turner’s guitar work is consistently engaging while also pushing the boundaries of what has been done before in Metal. His vocals, while sparsely utilised, as is usually the case within his body of work, sound more mean-spirit and deranged than they ever have and even though there is not much in the way of variety, apart from the occasional demented howl, I found them very impressive.
Now, here is the catch: All of this glory only makes up about half of the album’s runtime. Even the two aforementioned centrepieces contain unnecessary passages of static nothing - I guess “ambience” or “improvisation” is what we’re supposed to call them - which threaten to weigh them down. These passages and the three other tracks framing the album add absolutely nothing of value to the record. If Sumac went to the studio the next three days recording themselves fiddling about on their instruments, I suppose that could account for 50% of a new release each time. One cannot help but feel duped considering the immense difference in sophistication and care on display when comparing the two halves of the record.
German painter Gerhard Richter often comes to my mind when trying to articulate why precisely, with very few exceptions, I find improvisation and/or ambience taking up a large percentage of space on a record quite offensive: Richter, while, as Wikipedia will tell you, “one of the most important contemporary German artists”, has produced paintings that are simply a canvas featuring one colour. Now, while I’m sure an army of art critics will disagree with me, there is simply no one on this planet that could convince me that this is art in the sense that it rivals other high art. The same is true of the improvisational pieces on this record: It takes tremendous skill to create art. Skill which Sumac undoubtedly posses, but none of which is on display in those utterly empty tracks. Tracks that fail to conjure up any sort of atmosphere or feeling other than those of exasperation, boredom or anger at their sheer laziness, at the pretentious assumption that this material is worth listening to or paying money for. If I were feeling generous (or pretentious), I suppose I would say that said material might be born from a desire to break free from conventions and explore new dimensions of sonic expression, a desire which is generally commendable and at time finds success in other places on this album. But such cannot be achieved by aimlessly stringing together discordant guitar strumming, feedback and other nondescript sounds. It isn’t art. It’s directionless wank.
