Review Summary: "Worth your weight in Camel cigarettes"
I'm rarely the kind of guy to stumble into obscure music. In fact, I can't even remember how I found In the Arms of Providence. As far as I can tell, the band disbanded shortly after the making of
Lost My Voicebox in a Seaside Town. With such little background information, I turn to reviewing the music without context.
From the first sounds of the guitar, the band's post-hardcore influence is clear. It's a familiar sound to a listener of Glassjaw or Alexisonfire. The songwriting, however, takes a more unique turn. There are bits of jazz influence sprinkled across the songs, where loud screams and frantic drums cut out to a light, gentle rhythm. While they aren't the selling point of the album, they provide more variety per song than I've found in almost every other band in the genre.
Vocalist Chris Moulton provides quite a bit of variety in both his performance and writing. He comfortably switches between screaming, shouting, and singing, whenever it's appropriate. "The So Called Secret I Made Up" takes a much heavier approach both musically and vocally, while "Ask Not" flows a long like a confrontational dream. Here's an example quote from the previously mentioned song: "I know you're scared of tsunamis / And baby that's okay / A fifty foot wall of water / Could never fuck up your day."
What I see as a clear single would be "Involuntary Vampire," a track that remains fresh after over a dozen listens. Beginning with a humble dedication, the song builds to a catchy chorus, where Moulton proclaims, "And that's why I continue to shine". It really captures the cold night feeling, featured on the album cover. Another lyric I kept coming back to, later in the song, was this: "You said you said you said you said, you'd find your feelings / I do I do I do, but I'm too weak for you"
The final track, "Fuck Transmission", is also a worth a specific mention. Coming in at nearly seven and a half minutes, the track is summation of everything the EP has led to. It's both the loudest and quietest track, and it hits all the points in between. Mid-song, the track quiets down as Moulton continues to repeat "You don't have to say much at all." The ride cymbal ticks away and the guitars drone on, and it becomes clear: this feels like a farewell. Perhaps the band didn't intend for it, but years later, this is all listeners are left with.
It's a wonder that the band broke up and never got bigger. I'm not aware of any of the circumstances, and outside of Chris Moulton's later band, The Cambiata, I don't know what happened with the members. As far as obscure music goes, this is one of the most rewarding things I've found.
