As I’ve made my way to reviewing music more or less full time, I’ve noticed that my own tastes have started trending into stranger and darker directions. A few of the records I’ve fallen in love with recently exist in eldritch soundscapes that might sound abominable to the average listener (see also: Cremation Lily, HERIOT).

So when I first came across Winterlong, I was already poised to love it. But when I saw that the press release compared them to Deerhunter, The National, and Alcest, I was rapt with intrigue. What sort of music could be accurately described by that unlikely trio?

As it turns out, Winterlong doesn’t just fall right in the middle of those three—it also has plenty of nods to Joy Division, The Cure, Slowdive, and even Black Sabbath. And that’s all while sounding focused and gripping.

The sonic palette is immediately engaging. Drums skitter urgently through massive sweeps of washed-out guitars and crystalline synths, tethered to earth by no-nonsense bass lines. The guitars shift between New Order-esque single lines, massive shoegaze chords, and the occasional doom metal indulgence (like in “Last Call“). But unlike many of the bands in the post punk/goth/darkwave scene, the arrangements often employ post rock levels of cinematic motility. The emotive “Contempt” is probably the best example.

But in contrast to the Technicolor bursts of the instruments, the vocals are delivered in a disaffected monotone baritone. On a couple songs, the melody doesn’t shift from a single note. It’s somewhere between Ian Curtis’s apathetic drawl and Nick Cave’s loungy post punk croon. The disparity between the grandeur of the instruments and the devil-may-care vocals creates a sort of sonic hurricane with the vocals calmly standing in the eye of the storm while the band swirls around them.

I’ve made that metaphor before, but I’m not sure I’ve heard anything that actually feels like this record. I could spend all day making one-to-one comparisons of various riffs and timbres to point to the obvious influences that inform Executioner’s Mask voice. But that wouldn’t do anything to describe just how fresh and singular this album feels. From the ominous, cinematic opener “Things Fall Apart” to the Cure-like balladry of closer “Falling Apart,” there isn’t a moment on this disc that doesn’t feel fearless. In a musical landscape that’s dotted with derivative copycats and clumsy genre mashups, Executioner’s Mask is a breath of fresh air.