Review Summary: It's the wisdom in lines like "For all live and die, leave it all behind" why the ever consistent Breaking Benjamin ought not be so idly dismissed.
Death, taxes, Breaking Benjamin: It’s become something of a joke here at Sputnik that the post-grunge stalwarts under the stubborn Benjamin Burnley don't change. There’s no doubt the band, although exceedingly competent, is consistent to a well-worn fault in regard to its sound and songwriting and more than content to churn out the same kind of slick, angsty anthems that blend Korn, Nirvana, and Tool as if it’s still 2006.
However, that’s not quite true,
lyrically speaking. It’s been subtle and gradual, but Burnley thematically has come a long way from the alcohol-addled nihilism (e.g. “Polyamorous,” “Medicate,” and “Simple Design”) and rage (e.g. “Water,” “Firefly,” and “Believe”) that featured in his outfit’s early discography. Confronted with the consequences of his alcoholism in Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome and the death of his grandfather, he’s become increasingly plaintive about mortality (e.g. “Give Me a Sign,” “Anthem of the Angels,” “Dear Agony,” “Into the Nothing”) and resolute about living in the here and now (e.g. “Until the End,” “I Will Not Bow,” and “Never Again”), as well as whatever comes after he shuffles off this mortal coil (e.g. “The Great Divide” and “Ashes of Eden”). Indeed, Burnley’s orientation toward death and anxiety about his role in its coming are what characterize Breaking Benjamin’s efforts since
Phobia. They also make the band’s work compelling, not merely catchy.
Ember, the group’s sixth studio album and the second from this current lineup, is another successful exercise in
memento mori—the ancient meditative practice of learning how to live by remembering one is going to die. The hallmarks are all there: reflection about the state of the soul, rejection of the world as fleeting and fallen, and recognition, of course, of the inevitability of death.
These characteristics accordingly take on a Burnleyean flavor on the record. For example, in regard to soul-searching, he is harshly self-critical, even by Breaking Benjamin standards. “Feed the Wolf” and “Tourniquet” are metaphors for self-destructive tendencies. “Blood,” one of the best of the brutally introspective bunch, goes as far to ground them in human nature—a first for the band. As opposed to the last two LPs, there is a stronger emphasis on the frailty of Burnley’s soul and the inner demons that torment it on
Ember. Indeed, both accompanying and often characterizing this distrust of self is a sort of Manichaeism—the dualistic view of the cosmos being in eternal conflict between the spiritual forces of good and materialistic evil—which also in part embodies his disenchantment with the “wicked…, selfish world.” Single “Torn In Two” is perhaps most explicit about the battle between light and darkness within him, especially in its music video. This idea also has play in Burnley’s apocalyptic desires to “Let the sky fall down!” and be free of the predicament in which he finds himself. “Save Yourself” is hopeful about “leav(ing) the world tonight / There’s nothing left, I see the sun arise / My dying breath, I keep this prayer alive,” while “Close Your Eyes,” in the midst of “watch(ing) the world divide…, collide,” succinctly acknowledges, “For all live and die, leave it all behind.” Until that fateful moment, however, he’ll “Try to find a reason to live.”
Keep in mind, this dire existentialism sounds not nearly as grim as it reads. Breaking Benjamin are nothing if but adept rhetoricians, flirting with the negative to induce
pathos in the listener with the contrast when they nearly always go positive. After all, blunt, choppy alt-metal riffing in verses making way for massive choruses meant to melt the roof off of stadiums has been the group’s trademark since its inception. Dynamically, it also pairs well with the “Dark Before Dawn” motifs that proliferate throughout the band’s later work, including
Ember. There’s something undeniably cathartic about the album, even when, for example, Burnley roars, “I’m the fake you made meeee!” on the schizophrenic “Psycho,” which boasts the most sumptuous melody and aggressively technical guitar lines of the 39-minute runtime. More memorable is the ethereal “The Dark of You,” an electronically layered ballad that comes off less gloomy than it should despite condemning humanity in what seems to be the shadow of a failed relationship. As standouts that synchronize so well the polar dark and light elements and the tension between them at the heart of Burnley’s artistic project, they’re tracks that should be considered among the best in the band’s back catalogue.
Nevertheless, critics of the quintet will remain unimpressed. They’ll continue to call Breaking Benjamin generic and derivative. In some sense, they’re right.
Ember, though noticeably more bellicose than usual, is unshakably familiar. Most damning are “Red Cold River” and “Down,” which channel what “So Cold” and “Dance With the Devil” have done much better.
Where the commentators err is thinking this criticism, although accurate, is sufficient in appraising Breaking Benjamin. Burnley and company
ought to be evaluated comprehensively and more so on their own terms instead of the expectations of their severest detractors. The truth is the band
has progressed, just not in the way these skeptics demand. To wit:
Phobia is the sober confession of Burnley’s penchant for self-destruction;
Dear Agony grapples with the repercussions;
Dark Before Dawn is a spiritual awakening in search of salvation; and
Ember more or less doubles down on these themes, synthesizing them into what legitimately can be called an emerging existential philosophy.
This claim, I’m sure, strikes many as absurd. Burnley’s lyrics are notoriously opaque, often relying on vague metaphor and phrases trite to radio-friendly rock that moreover are uttered seemingly in streams of consciousness. Even so, just because something is difficult to understand or mainstream doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile. And if someone has an open mind and is willing to struggle a bit through Burnley’s cryptic words, it’s clear there’s a little more going on here than what’s typical of “butt-rock.” In contrast to the “giving up on morality, feeds my brutality” commercial nihilism of the Five Finger Death Punches of the world,
Ember and Breaking Benjamin get us much closer to the True, the Good, and the Beautiful.
If that seems hopelessly abstract, let’s make it more concrete. To be frank: Rock recently has lost Chris Cornell, Chester Bennington, and Dolores O’Riordan to suicide. It wasn’t too long ago when Burnley aspired to follow similarly in the path of his idol, Kurt Cobain, admitting once, “I started drinking to drink myself to death.” Now sober, he has had a change of heart, mind, and thus tune. It goes: “I want—nay—
will live on in this life and perhaps the next.” Whatever Breaking Benjamin’s idiosyncrasies, that’s powerful and moving.
Maybe we shouldn’t leap to be so cynical.
Recommended Tracks:
"Psycho"
"The Dark of You"
"Blood"
"Close Your Eyes"
