Review Summary: Setting a new standard for the old guard of doom
Through the dichotomy of Warning and 40 Watt Sun, singer-guitarist Patrick Walker has come to be one of the most consistent and emotionally resonant songwriters in modern music. The two projects have served as two sides of the same coin, sharing similarly depressive songwriting and often blurring the lines between hazy doom and slow motion folk. 40 Watt Sun may have been the most creatively active but Warning’s monumental legacy always lurked in the background, especially once the latter regrouped for live gigs around 2016.
And with Sun’s most recent album, 2024’s Little Weight, invoking the fuzz-folk of 2011’s The Inside Room, a comparable full circle moment for Warning has felt inevitable. Of course, it’s about as daunting to wonder how Rituals Of Shame will compare to the ever-iconic Watching From A Distance twenty years later but there’s enough to indicate the band is encouraging the listener to do exactly that. The layout here directly channels its predecessor with a similar roster of five tracks totaling to forty-five minutes on top of their signature sluggish tempos and outpouring laments.
While the performances may not necessarily tap into the overwrought angst of their younger days, they stay on top of their game with the maturity they’d gained in the meantime. The guitars steadily regain that washed out tone with a noticeably darker palette while the vocal delivery comes with the confidence that’s just empathic enough to not feel out of character. The drums also show a careful understanding with dexterous fills between the most drawn out crashes, proving to be momentous even when the production doesn’t quite give off as much of the old booming echo.
It’s also reassuring that even if Rituals Of Shame isn’t an outright xerox, it’s only because Walker spent the two decades in between sharpening his songwriting. The lyrics are driven by a confessional spirit that provides its own sense of catharsis and the riffs have the classic drifting quality that ensures their momentum from getting too played out. The colossal “Stations” and “Landing Lights” are perhaps overt in invoking that Watching-style haze but shine with their strong melodies while the closing “Teacher” hits an almost bright point of vulnerability. The opening title track and “Night Comes Down” even seem to invoke the more orthodox doom of 1999’s The Strength To Dream, hitting the sort of earthquakes that modern bands like Godthrymm, Monolord, and Khemmis carried on.
Alongside the astounding turnaround from Neurosis, Warning’s comeback has set a new standard for the old doom guard. Their return to full-on classic doom comes naturally to them, upholding their despair-ridden slow motion rumbles with finesse and an experienced ear for engaging compositions. It may not be the soundtrack for any young heartbroken doomer’s breakups, but there’s an honesty that sustains their signature pathos. You’re still gonna have to be in the right mood for it, but there’s something to be said for aging gracefully and getting yourself some therapy.
