Review Summary: I've given enough.
Using knives to rewrite my last rites.
I don't know for how much longer Counterparts will continue to make music – let alone if they will at all – but the fact that they can ride off into the sunset whenever they damn well please and leave behind a discography of this magnitude and quality is nothing short of a herculean accomplishment. Betwixt the band's lauded record from 2019,
Nothing Left to Love and this year's
A Eulogy For Those Still Here, expectations have been rightfully high; but how exactly do you keep expanding on an overly familiar formula of highly technical and melodic metalcore? At its core,
Eulogy... is very much Counterparts playing to their core strengths with little in the way of surprises. Cacophonous and razor-sharp drum parts assault the listener senseless amidst urgent and highly melodic guitar leads. Alex Re and Jesse Doreen return on guitar duties for the first time since 2013's
The Difference Between Hell and Home and their return is outmost welcome. "Unwavering Vow" and "Bound To The Burn" move like out-of-control freight trains – the rhythm section ever-changing, the riffs haunting and immediate and Brendan Murphy really,
really wants to end it all. It's Counterparts through and through but the execution remains wholly impressive front-to-back.
Electing the talents of renowned, god-tier metal producer Will Putney once more, every aspect of Counterparts' music shine through like a celestial beam of light. Kyle Brownlee's drumming is unhinged and extremely technical, somehow even more so than his already impressive playing found on previous Counterparts records; beautifully locked in with Tyler Williams' ominous bass riffage. The aforementioned pairing of Alex and Jesse ensures that Counterparts' typically soaring guitar leads are dialed up to eleven, punctuated by crushing breakdowns that rear their head exactly when they should. Off-kilter spoken-word passages and recurrent glimmers of clean singing punctuate Brendan's tortured and scathing vocals. Again, nothing new here but every moment feels earned and surgically dialed in, be it the towering choruses found throughout the album or the ever so menacing build ups that often precede spine-tingling crescendos or heartrending moments.
"Make your cancer mine"', frontman Brendan shouts amidst the head-splitting breakdown of "Whispers of Your Death", an ode to his cat Kuma who lost his life battling a blood parasite, causing Brendan to plunge ever deeper into despair and hopelessness. Themes of love, loss, hatred and mournful yearning for what still exists but far out of arm's reach remain constants throughout the album, culminating in some of the most emotionally resonant moments the band has penned; both musically and lyrically.
The mammoth-sized, emo-anthem that is the title track is an undeniable career highlight for the band, packing a sweeping clean chorus and a bone-chilling outro to boot. Other must-see tracks include the frenzied, driving intensity of "Sworn of Silence", stripping the band down to their bare essentials while Alex and Jesse effortlessly dance with Brendan's tortured yelps of being stuck in a creative rut. "What Mirrors Might Reflect" & "Flesh To Fill Your Wounds" sees the band throwing everything they have at the listener without an ounce of hesitation, with the latter packing a closing breakdown that will likely make jaws drop in awe. Yet few paragraphs will do "Soil II" justice, both a musical and lyrical nod to the closing predecessor found on
Between Hell and Home – it's a succinct yet emotional powerhouse that leaves nothing to be desired. "A Mass Grave of Saints" closes out the record in spectacular fashion, moving like a hard-hitting ballad drenched in grief and sorrow; laced with emotive cleans and gut-wrenching poetry.
Counterparts' long winding career spanning fifteen years and seven studio albums may very well soon draw to a close: potentially making
Eulogy... a befitting yet bittersweet hurrah. Full of lustrous guitar melodies and brutal candidness that cut to the bone, the Canadian quintet have rightfully earned their seat at the table for the genre's absolute greatest, rending most of their peers seemingly obsolete in the process. Counterparts may have come up short-handed on innovations throughout their tenure but if this album is their closing sentiment, then their impact will likely be felt and heard years from now as similar bands struggle to match their consistency and craft. In living in the darkest recesses of his mind, Brendan Murphy has come out the other side once again with confessional, blood-stained anthems that will linger with you long after the album's breathtaking finale fades into nothingness; begging the question as to where the band could possibly go after this.
Let me leave
I've given enough.
