Review Summary: A diverse debut album from a talented and promising young band.
Art By Numbers – Reticence: The Musical, on first listen may strongly resemble a mixture between Nocturne-era The Human Abstract, and Digital Veil-era THA. The record shares the similar neo-classical leanings in terms of guitar work, unbridled energy, and general compositions. Concurrently, it is rumored that both guitar players have studied under the legendary A.J. Minette, which may attribute to the strong similarities in terms of the guitar compositions.
That however, is the last vestige of THA influence on the band. Almost immediately upon its beginning, the music undergoes various shifts, essentially showcasing everything they have to offer: varied compositions, dynamics, and copious amounts of memorable melodies.
The most unusual aspect of the melodic component is the very diverse use of three instruments that are often pigeonholed in modern metal: vocals, piano, and bass. The vocals, by and large, are wispy and annoying at times, but rectified via plentiful layering. The vocalist takes many risks in terms of incorporating interesting passages and harmonic complements to the compositions, without overriding the general timing of each piece. The bass is very much in-the mix and is omni-present, working nicely as both a rhythmic component and melodic backing of riffs and chord progressions. The standard ‘follow-the-guitar’ bass model is largely absent on this record.
The piano is a whole another beast on this record. Bewilderingly, and at first, unbelievably, the piano is used largely as a third guitar – melodic augmentations and melodic motif reinforcement are primary uses for the clean piano. Normally, any keyboard usage in a traditional metal setting is used to make pieces more ‘epic’ via synths, and introduce a sense of depth to the riding motif. Unfortunately, after a decade of relying on this crutch truly tires out the idea. Fortunately for ABN, the piano is a major success, presenting the listener with a much needed change in both variety and sonic dimension.
With the guitars being the most prominent aspect of the music, it is surprising to find that the tuning is in drop C. While at first troublesome in theory, ABN manages to completely overthrow decades of this tuning’s open chug abuse. The arpeggios, leads, and chord progressions are so varied that at times it’s impossible to even tell that it’s such a common tuning. Despite this strength, an important criticism of the guitar work is that the production on the instrument is weak at best. This is evident through the drowning non-distorted passages, and non-organic approach to arpeggiated sequences. Poor definition on the guitar assists in a ‘muddled’ and tiny feel of the riffs.
Throughout the run of the record, the listener is bombarded with memorable piano, carefully restrained guitar pieces, and excellent dynamics.
It is incredible that there is no complication with so many instruments sharing the spotlight minutes at a time, in complete harmony. No single instrument outshines the other, despite each being exceptional as a standalone track. The compositions are also quite diverse, successfully avoiding the all-too-common feeling of “is this the same song?” that newer metal albums have, due to tuning restrictions or singular writers. None of the songs overstay their welcome, which works to the album’s advantage as it consistently reels the listener in with a fresh motif.
All in all, Art By Numbers create a legitimately inspired piece of work, especially when taking into consideration that it is their debut album. In an age where bands are pumping out recycled trash dressed in fancy editing and trends, it is aggravating to see true music lack the exposure of some of the bigger names in the scene. If you are looking for truly inspired musicians and genuinely entertaining music, this album is a must-have for fan of any music.
Standout tracks: Delusions of Grandeur, The Man in the Box, Regression to the Meme, Venice is Sinking, Reyes, Best Laid Plans, Memoire Insuffiante, Twelve Days.
