Review Summary: An endless dance of duality.
Rivers of Nihil chasing grandiose and diverse concepts is something that is proving to be both promising and frustrating. This goal was something that was somewhat present from the group's more formative years on
The Conscious Seed of Light, but in a more strictly metal approach of meaty chugs, ceaseless blast beats and frenetic guitar wizardry. The more recent shift doesn't just root its controversy in the simple inclusion of some proggy sax sounds, however. This may have been part of the major talk of
Where Owls Know My Name, but it's not like the integration of jazz and extreme metal hasn't been done wonderfully before (even if Rivers of Nihil's approach is a little more unabashed and up-front). As a whole, the band's decision to fashion every genre of music possible into a 65 minute package creates something that is simultaneously brimming with brilliance and unfortunately jarring.
This bewildering lack of balance kicks off in an alien and ethereal fashion off of "The Tower" a piano driven ballad that starts mournful and subdued and coalesces into an almost rock-opera type of bombast, before suddenly receding once more. This leads us into the second track "Dreaming Black Clockwork", which trades off between groove-laden riffs and hypnotic, even noir-esque saxophone. This is where the potential for the album's success shines through, as there is a genuine sense of otherworldly dread and torment that permeates the track. This is the darkest moment of The Work. Now let's talk about its more jubilant moments. More harshly, let's talk about where it fails.
"Wait" would actually be enjoyable if it was placed in an album that could accompany it. It's like a soft blanket of snow in the heart of a joyous winter season, directly after experiencing the actual implosion of planet earth (I am aware that this apocalypse would render climate anomalies obsolete-calm down fellow meteorologists). The problem with this is it has no purpose. It serves as a major hiccup in atmosphere-building, something that this album suffers largely from. Even the less nuanced tracks like "Focus" at least seem to fit in this half-built puzzle, even if the lack of diverse riffs or intricate drum patterns that worked wonders on albums like
Monarchy are seemingly absent.
Perhaps I'm viewing this album with too harsh a lense, but it's hard not to pull apart the shortcomings when they cut the album so deep, and when they precede some of the finest moments of brilliance this record offers. This brings me to the following tracks-"The Void From Which No Sound Escapes" and "Terrestria IV:Work". All those former attempts at conjuring catharsis come to fruition here, with wonderfully melodic soft-loud dynamics that actually mystify. It finally creates a sense of grandiose that the album was sorely missing (the former track of which is punctuated by a truly magical saxophone solo. It is the stuff of legends.) The latter track proves this further-it is patient and subdued, with those jazz-leanings adding into its harrowing beginnings, until it erupts into a swirling vorpal maelstrom (I am aware of the illegitimacy of the word "vorpal" but if Lewis Caroll used it I may as well damn you).
The Work is beautiful.
The Work is frustrating.
The Work is utterly baffling. It is all these things in spades, for better and for worse. In a way it is hard not to appreciate the polarizing nature of Rivers of Nihil, as they seemingly just do not give a half of a flying
*** as to what the outside world thinks of them. They are creators for the sake of their own enjoyment, crafters of their own art. On the other side of the coin, it is easy to laud this approach as it yields completely inconclusive results. Maybe one day they shall find a way to successfully integrate this ideology into something truly grand in scope; a true epoch. Or maybe they will forever dance in musical limbo, teasing with a half smirk across their face onlooking a consistently bamboozled audience. What the future holds, none of us can know.
