As difficult as music taxonomy is on its own, metal brings its own challenges. The delineations between the different subgenres get so microscopic that it feels pointless.
For years, I struggled to figure out where exactly sludge metal fits. Many of the bands typically labeled sludge felt more like post metal to me. Others were undeniably doom.
But this record is undeniably sludge: it is thick and heavy, oozing out of the turntable for eighty minutes.
For the last fifteen years, Massachusetts sextet Caspian has explored the vast sonic expanse of post rock. Their palette has included glitching electronics, soft horn sections, gritty metal riffs, and the occasional vocalist.
On Circles, their fifth full length, finds them getting more experimental than ever before, without sacrificing any of their heaviness.
One of the most interesting things about post rock is that as clear as the conventions of the genre are, it’s a rare thing for a band to put out a record that hits all the right notes without seeming derivative.
But on their debut full-length, Texas natives Driving Slow Motion offer up a brand of heavy post rock that feels fresh without adding too much to the tried-and-true post rock formula.
Musical taxonomy is an interesting thing. Genres twist and mingle like gnarled branches, running parallel to one another but being careful not to touch.
Take for instance, metal and emo. Despite their affinity for sonic catharsis and death, there’s very little camaraderie between the two. However, they each have a symbiotic relationship with post rock. Metal and post rock have fed off of eachother for decades, with bands like ISIS and Mogwai liberally reaching across the branch. Similarly, emo and post rock have much more in common than loud/soft dynamics and precious sonic elements. Bands like American Football and The Appleseed Cast have been mixing the two for two decades. And yet, metal and emo have remained distinctly distant despite this shared commonality.
But on Isolation Ritual, Boston’s HarborLights bridge the gap in a way that never feels incongruous.
It’s no secret that the lines demarcating metal have blurred as of late. From Alcest and Deafheaven‘s fascination with shoegaze and post rock to Zeal and Ardor’s melding of black metal and black spirituals, the sonics of heavy metal have never been less sacred.
It’s a tough time to be a metal purist. Luckily, I am not—at all. And good thing too, because if I were, I would have likely put up my noise at the brilliant genre-bending catharsis from Belgium power trio Brutus.
It’s no secret that I have a very, very weak spot in my heart for music that blends metal’s punishing heaviness with unabashed prettiness. And the last few years (more specifically, ever since Sunbather brought further attention to the type of gorgeous metal that Alcest pioneered) scores of metal bands have been pushing into the dreamy lushness of shoegaze and post rock—and vice versa.
But few bands do it with the sort of shameless simplicity of Holy Fawn. And thus, few bands do it with as much success.
Over the last few years, I have found myself crossing paths with Colorado’s Comrades on a number of occasions. We’ve played the same festivals (they always have a much better time slot), they’ve played in my living room, and one occasion, I pretended to be on the road with them and Deathbreaker to get free Chick-Fil-A.
Yet for all of this familiarity, I am still astonished every time I get a chance to hear them play (especially in my living room). Their newest record is another genre-melding, heart-rending masterpiece that’s just as likely to fuel a mosh pit as a moment of quiet reflection.
After the crushing gorgeousness of Quietly, Mouth of the Architect got busy. Despite lineup changes, the band toured Europe, recorded EPs, and headlined a few festivals.
Then the group returned to the Midwest to record their fourth full-length, Dawning. But in comparison to Quietly’s thick, relentless avalanche of atmospheric noise, this record spends much more time flexing their melodic chops.
They say that you should never judge a book by its cover. That goes double for records.
Because if you were to look at the pastoral winter scene, gentle cursive text, and whimsical animal illustrations on the inside gatefold, you might think this would sound like a gorgeous, twee-folk Bon Iver clone.
And while this record certainly is gorgeous, it’s beauty comes through Mouth of the Architect’s particular brand of crushing sludge metal heaviness.
Across the heavy music scene, few bands have been as mercurial and inventive as Cave In. They have treated the purists, record labels, and even their own history with the same level of middle-fingered disdain, reinventing themselves several times across their career.
:format(jpeg):mode_rgb():quality(90)/discogs-images/R-4125308-1518316665-3091.jpeg.jpg){kind=link}