Review Summary: Katatonia's most accomplished album up until this point is a captivating and gloomy excercise in structured songwriting. Though lacking in variety of instrumentation, it is nevertheless an excellent display of songwriting talent.
Let’s see how many words we can come up with to describe Katatonia’s sound: Gloomy, bleak, depressive, defeated, dark, haunting, dismal, sometimes disturbing, often captivating.
While that may seem to imply that I’m calling Katatonia monotonous, that’s not the case. Rather, the point is that Katatonia is simply one of the most prolific rock/metal bands I’ve ever heard when it comes to creating atmospheric songs that are drenched in melancholy. Built with thick guitars and bass and topped off with ethereal guitar leads that swirl around with ghostly and surreal mellotrons, Katatonia’s sound is not so unutterably murky as to detach the listener; instead they craft their songs with unbelievable melodic and harmonic sensibilities to create one of the hardest, as far as I’m concerned, types of songs to write: tunes that are both meaningful, truly emotional, have great musicianship and are still often catchy and accessible.
Katatonia has perfected the craft of structured songwriting. While similarly dark and atmospheric bands like Opeth’s opuses twist and turn into unknown territory, with nary a discernable chorus or verse, Katatonia has learned to write songs with an identifiable structure with remarkable conviction and freshness. I personally am amazed that Katatonia’s style, while formulaic in nature, manages to sound so unique…it never gets repetitive! They always play their tunes with distinctive style and passion.
The album starts out strongly with
Dispossession, a song that represents the band extremely well on an aesthetic level. It begins with a slightly wah-ed guitar that adds some nice texture to the riff that builds up into a trademark Katatonia band jam, with rhythm guitars locking into bass and drums and a high guitar part taking up the melody. It then blasts into a more rhythmically interesting groove with both guitar parts playing on slightly different effects, providing really interesting texture. Jonas comes in on vocals, sounding noticeably dreamlike as he laments about betrayal. He achieves his aching trademark sound by layering his depressive baritone with a vocal part an octave higher, a trick that is often overused in the Katatonia repertoire, but is so addictive and haunting that I couldn’t imagine the band without it. The verses are characterized by Jonas’ musings, with decadent guitar part overlaying a creepy mellotron wandering around like a lost ghost. In the final chorus, drummer Daniel Liljekvist begins pounding at his ride/crash cymbal rather than the high-hat as he had been using in the previous choruses, and the band cries out underneath. I really love the intensity he creates there.
Daniel never overplays, instead complementing the guitars and coming up with a nice creative beat with interesting accents where it is necessary. He really adds some life into the song. The bass locks in tight with him and adds some tasty fills, making for a nice booming rhythm section. I also can’t say how much I love his perfect use of the ride cymbal.
Chrome begins with another distant-sounding guitar riff before the band crashes in with another full-out assault, with wailing lead guitar sprawling over the rhythm section. This is the formula Katatonia relies heavily on, yet they do it in such a way and with such subtle nuance that it never becomes repetitive. The chorus sees the band in perfect synergy, with a dissonant lead guitar riff and Jonas belting out a commanding vocal line. Not enough can be said about Daniel’s drumbeats. I love when starts using the ride cymbal in the bridge. The song goes into quieter bridge with an electronic drumbeat and some understated singing.
One interesting thing about this. The textures of the songs always make it sound like it’s raining, which is a perfect atmosphere that Katatonia set up for their material. It’s always raining in Katatonia’s world.
We Must Bury You employs a satisfying lyrical metaphor in a song about neglect and guilt. Each member of the band breaks his mold here, with Jonas reaching into the higher registers of his voice and sounding like he just barely got there in an anthemic chorus while Daniel trades in his sticks for an electronic drum machine and the guitarists play more groove-based riffs. While this seems to be a hit-or-miss among fans, it’s a unique piece to say the least.
Teargas is among the most emotional songs on the album. While Katatonia thrives on its conviction and emotion, this tune takes it up to another level, even for them. It starts out with a soundscape of strummed chords and a floating, dissonant guitar part that builds tension into Jonas’ vocal delivery that really make the song what it is. He sounds almost too depressed to sing, but uses this as an advantage, as his vocals meander through the haunted hallways of the music, floating around us, not even bothering to rise in power, instead being drowned out by the onslaught of heavy guitars and bass.
I Transpire contains the most impressive lyrical display on the album, as we witness Jonas coming to the startling conclusion that he is the same as his enemies. A ghostlike and haunting tune, this dark, plodding rocker is achingly brilliant.
Clean Today starts off with a tense ride cymbal rhythm, soon joined by growling guitars and blasting into a trademark Katatonia rock out session. Jonas’ vocals are haunting here with his lyric-less “woahs” drowned underneath the walls of guitars. The verse is a straightforward, heavy, rhythmic exercise in minimalism as the guitars and drums play in unison and Jonas croons. The chorus is remarkable in its emotion, a tear-inducing question of identity—a theme song for those forgotten as the guitars and drums pound away with a swirling rhythm. Beautiful in dark way, this song displays what music really is all about.
The Future of Speech begins with a sweet guitar arpeggio and floating mellotron, which continue as the wall-of-guitars slam in, giving an eerie and unreal feel to the whole affair. Again, I can’t communicate the beauty of Jonas’ vocals.
Passing Bird picks up the tempo a bit, an admittedly refreshing change. It’s a love poem gone awry.
Sweet Nurse is the paranoid ramblings of a delusional hospital patient.
Don’t Tell a Soul caps the album with a distressing eulogy of loneliness.
I realize I went into less detail as the songs went, but, really if I continued to include so many details, I’d continue saying lead guitar part over wall-of-guitar rhythm guitars, floating mellotron, etc. etc. But, despite this, Katatonia’s sound does not get old in this sprawling epic of sadness. Katatonia is truly a talented band with enough melodic and harmonic variation to continue to plod along with their trademark sound without giving off the feeling that they’re simply regurgitating. This album marked a time of change in their career, as they would follow it up with their masterpiece—the more varied in instrumentation, more cohesive, and stronger
Viva Emptiness.
