Review Summary: time hurries anxiously away...
Not only does
Nowhere Else Feels More Like Home read like a mid-2000's emo-goes-indie-rock album title, but the cover art's autumn-time centenarian farmhouse and ivory mat border fit the bill equally. It'd be a curious smokescreen for the anonymous one-man project's prototypical brand of shoegaze-soaked post-black metal were it not for the simple fact that his eighth studio album in six years (that's not a typo) rouses much of the same emotive colourings as those lauded coming-of-age indie LPs of yore. Dejection, angst, loss, hope and loneliness permeate the affair just as they should, living somewhere between a memory on a postcard and a footstep on an ochre woodland trail moving headstrong towards a changing season. Perhaps that chipping white paint on the aforementioned farmhouse is emblematic of youthful innocence fading into the yellowing leaves of love and loss, but if one is going to read into these visual cues with the same enthusiasm that Brand New's fanbase explored their band's cryptic 2006 magnum opus with a house on the cover, one would hope that the music itself is worthy of the same resplendent probing. Luckily, despite its heart-on-the-sleeve immediacy, Wounds of Recollection's newest offering barters troves of soul, both in message and music, landing itself well in the upper bits of the blackgaze world. It's no small feat for an artist who never spends more than a year on an any given album to be certain, but the fact he seems to move as quickly as the fleeting petrichor of autumn itself is possibly his greatest asset for catching these lightning-in-a-bottle gut shots of emotional catharsis.
If Deafheaven's
Sunbather has become the quintessential post-black metal album of summertime heat and sunshine, then
Nowhere Else Feels More Like Home would be a cozy pick for a similar reign over the genre's exploration of autumnal melancholy. There's a certain vein of memorial gratitude that carries the lifeblood of Wounds' heartfelt reminiscence, as if the bereavement and sorrow of days gone by are due for harvest, and properly acknowledged as building blocks towards a life well-earned. You can feel it right away on the lengthy opener "Backyard Burial", a beautifully energetic track exploring youth's first experiences of grief and the subsequent shoebox funerals that so many of us remember with misty eyes. Annos (the multi-instrumentalist behind the project) himself heralds the album as
"inspired by the memories and friends made in youth that leave an immeasurable impact on us, despite their quickly fleeting nature", and this cliffnote couldn't feel more fitting. Moments like the decry of subtle piano keys on the highlight "Dedicated To Sandy Denny" clearing the way for one of the album's most striking leads are abundant, impactful, and loveable to a degree that only the Polaroid-graininess of their timbre could achieve. On a grander scale, it's an album that reminds us to cherish the precious connections that shape who we are, with every scream a salute to bygone affection, and every rapturous melody a bow to the miracle of emotion. I’ll admit in first person prose that that I’m unfamiliar with the man’s previous works, but if they’re anything like this, the Atlantan’s lack of recognition in the scene thus far would be criminal. Instrumentally, it checks all the right boxes with an impressive showing across the board, but moreover, the mature approach to songwriting that doesn't grow tepid in lieu of its focused motif is what really gives this album legs, balancing acoustic passage and blistering turbulence with equal poise and smart pacing.
Perhaps drawing those initial comparisons to emo/indie ideologies is a bit misguided when bands like Harikiri for the Sky, Ultar and Møl exist in such close proximity, but COVID-era Wounds of Recollection has such a personal touch that it's hard to escape feeling those swells of contemplation and release that made one's favourite touchy-feely records of young adulthood so special. The only real downside of these 55 minutes is how firmly rooted in the post-black/blackgaze mold they really are, doing what they can within the picket borders and piles of freshly raked leaves that spurned their pastiche. As a result, it does fine work as a foreground moodpiece, but individuals looking for diverse landscapes to hike about might feel the cold sting of boredom before long. After all, the heavy-light-heavy recipe of blackgaze can quickly lose an aftertaste if the songwriting isn't well seasoned and the instrumental interplay isn't garnished with a little spice. In that regard,
Nowhere Else Feels More Like Home is admirably thoughtful, but ultimately wins its bonus points by way of captivating atmosphere and a charming demeanor that belies the genre's most grievous shortcomings. Fans of post-shoegaze-something-music in general should be keen to lap this up, especially those who lean towards an appreciation for grandiose élément d'un décor, because with his eighth studio record, Wounds of Recollection has proven that staunch purism can still give rise to beautiful
and time-enduring music in a genre that often overdoes the former and misses out on the latter.
