This album is a lesson in masterful songcraft. Indie rock stalwarts Modest Mouse have been around for a long time, and have numerous albums under their belts. All that experience has not gone to waste. They’ve learned how to finely integrate a myriad of instrumentation into a flawless, cohesive whole. It’s all so damned tight and fluid, and always full of surprises. A musician friend summed it up best when he commented to me, “They have a triangle in one song! A triangle!!! Who does that?! I wish I had the time to put a fucking triangle in songs.” That’s the nature of this release: one sound built upon another and another, coalescing into a lush total package. “Spitting Venom” is a wonderful example of that, a song which moves from an acoustic intro into a rockin’ middle and from there to a layered finale that feels rich and expansive. Isaac Brock is still dishing out the David Byrne-style vocals, particularly on “Florida” where the inflection and rhythm of his words are uncannily similar to that of the former Talking Heads frontman. A new and exciting development in the band is the addition of Johnny Marr on guitar. Yes, that Johnny Marr, the legendary Smiths guitarist. It’s great to see him around and still making top-notch music. Another guest spot goes to James Mercer, vocalist of The Shins, who provides backing vocals on three tracks. For all this album’s intricacies, listen to it on headphones and you’ll hear even more, little sounds and complexities you’d never catch otherwise. It’s almost like a riddle; see if you can ferret out every noise, harmony and synth note. There is not a single poor, or even mediocre, song on this entire album and considering there’s 14 tracks, that’s saying something too. Modest Mouse have reached a point where they make it all look effortless, while forging a sound most other bands, indie or otherwise, can only hope to achieve.

Given to the Rising represents a small step backward for Neurosis, as far as I’m concerned. Or maybe it’s not so much backward as it is to the side, in a tangential direction. The band had been very much following the same path as their contemporaries Isis, becoming more and more atmospheric and growing their sound into something truly special. This new disc, however, brings to mind their Through Silver in Blood recording. That’s not a terrible thing, and some would say Through Silver in Blood was a landmark Neurosis release, but I always found it too angular and cold. Given to the Rising is not entirely that way, but parts of it can be. Really, though, if I were to attach a singular adjective to this album it might be “spacey.” There seem to be all manner of ghostly mechanical bleeps, bloops and tones lurking around each corner. The title track has them right before it slams into its awesome groove-laden final moments. “Fear and Sickness” starts with them, and the guitars have a rising and falling siren-like sound throughout its entirety. The last 45 seconds of “Water is Not Enough” are pure noise, a piercing tone that will rattle your fillings out. These sounds are often very effective at providing a creepy, malicious vibe, so I’m not saying they’re misplaced or unwelcome, they’re just an intriguing choice. It’s like the soundtrack to a horror movie set in the inky blackness of space. But hey, if you’re just looking for bonecrushing intensity this album has that too. “Hidden Faces” is a powerhouse, trademark Neurosis and unrelentingly punishing. “Distill (Watching the Swarm)” is along those same lines, ending with the vicious mantra “Distill…distill…break them all down. Distill…distill…tear them all apart.” Neurosis are still one of the most talented groups around, a band of true vision and conviction. I’d just prefer they turn that vision back where it was on The Eye of Every Storm.

A fake album from a cartoon metal band? One of the best albums of the year? You bet your goddamned spiked armbands and bullet belts. For those of you that have been living in a cave for the past year or so, allow me to elaborate. Dethklok are an animated metal band portrayed on the Cartoon Network show Metalocalypse. It’s a hysterical portrayal of five musicians that have managed to become superstars of obscene proportions while playing the heaviest music on the planet. The show simultaneously pays loving homage to all things metal while lampooning the comical aspects of it and offering some wicked social commentary. The music created by Dethklok was obviously created by real people, or if you can believe it, a single real person. That person is Brendon Small, a comedian and graduate of the Berklee College of Music, of whom the metal world must be asking “Where the hell have you been all this time?” At least that’s what I’m asking, because his composition and playing abilities are staggering. For the album he is joined by someone the metal world knows quite well indeed, drum god Gene Hoglan of Dark Angel and Strapping Young Lad, who lays down his usual battery of high-caliber percussive artillery. The Dethalbum is relentless melodic death metal, with inspiring guitar harmonies, crushing brutality and infectious riffs. The lyrics and titles, of course, are silliness because that’s the entire point. Yes, “Murmaider” is about mermaid murder. “Hatredcopter” is, in fact, about a helicopter of hate. “Briefcase Full of Guts” is actually about a briefcase….well, you get the idea. But as a contrast to the ludicrous content of these songs, the music is deadly serious, as well as being just plain deadly. “Thunderhorse” will leave you aghast at its perfectly executed melodic attack. “Go Into the Water” moves at a slower tempo, but is bombastic and unabashedly epic in its own right. “Awaken” wreaks havoc with pummeling, earth-shaking thrash madness. “Face Fisted” and “Birthday Dethday” are tight and vicious death metal perfection. “Go Forth and Die” is a rumbling juggernaut machine, grinding forward like an agent of Armageddon. I could go on and on but I hope I’ve made the point that the lyrics and tongue-in-cheek comedy in no way diminish the metal magnificence to be found here. It is perhaps ironic that this “fake” album lays waste to a large majority of “real” metal bands out there, but that’s the truth. As a testament and salute to the metal world that must surely have inspired Brendon Small to first pick up a guitar, it is a fiery, blazing beacon.

Four years ago Machine Head released Through the Ashes of Empires, which would have likely gone completely unnoticed by me if not for a good friend that’s always exposing me to new musical treats. I knew Machine Head, of course, from their “heyday” in the mid-90s when they crashed onto the scene with Burn My Eyes, best known for the crush-and-squeal approach of songs like “Old” and “Davidian.” I even saw them live once but I was never a huge fan. ...Empires changed all that. At first the disc was impossible to find, then suddenly it started showing up everywhere. I didn’t obtain it until long after its release, but I can confidently say it is one of the best albums of its year. Why? Because Machine Head evolved. They started using fantastic melodies á lá the Gothenburg melodic death style, their songs increased in length and complexity, and the material became more substantive and engaging. The Blackening continues this glorious trend, though it’s more of a grower because it doesn’t come off as immediate as its predecessor. Once you unlock it, though, you’ll wonder what you were missing in the first place. “Clenching the Fists of Dissent” (what a great title) is a battering ram of an opener and the good news is it just gets better from there. “Aesthetics of Hate” is a vicious speed demon, leaving carnage in its wake. “Now I Lay Thee Down” is a perfect example of the bigger, better siege engine that Machine Head have become. Stunning dual-guitar harmonies permeate this track, and vocalist Rob Flynn’s passion and fury nearly drip from the speakers in an obsidian ooze. “Halo” is the crowning (no pun intended) achievement of the album, showcasing the band’s patented sound of old, yet reaching new heights of raw, bloody emotion with more dual-guitar radiance, the most shredding solos I’ve heard in years, and vocal dynamics that will leave you trembling, spent, destroyed. This record is another tour de force for these now-veteran warriors, and I dearly hope they will stay on this path for future releases. They’ve become so much more than they were.

When I saw that Coheed and Cambria were releasing a new album I hoped for and anticipated another godly release from them that would fall comfortably in my top five records of the year. Hell, the preceding album Good Apollo…Vol. 1: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness was my #2 album of 2005, and in retrospect I wish I had put it at #1. It transfixed me and delighted my senses for weeks on end. No World for Tomorrow, while very good indeed, fails to achieve the same level of consistency. Don’t get me wrong; I have no reservations whatsoever about including it in this list, as these fellows are still a progressive rock band of gigantic talent, concocting many memorable songs. “Feathers” is the shining star of the disc, with a supercharged emotional chorus that inevitably finds me singing along at the top of my lungs. It is a quintessential C&C track in the sense that it highlights the brilliant paradox of their music. An upbeat, downright happy-sounding track, the lyrics are dark, sinister and ominous. There are also wonderfully quirky ‘80s pop-inspired moments to be found on the album, most notably in the oh-oh-oh post-chorus of “The Running Free.” And the spacey keyboards of “The Hound (of Blood and Rank)” are distinctly reminiscent of Aldo Nova’s “Fantasy.” “Gravemakers & Gunslingers,” on the other hand, is possibly the most rockin’ song the band has ever written. It’s fast, dirty and mean, kicking ass and taking no prisoners. So yes, there are some truly stellar moments on this album, there just seems to be less of them than on the previous two albums, plus a lack of cohesion. What ultimately subtracted points and lowered the ranking, however, is the closing pentology “The End Complete.” While Part I, “The Fall of House Atlantic,” is a gloriously epic prog intro and Part II, “Radio Bye Bye,” is a charming and energetic song, things go downhill from there. “The Road and the Damned” is frankly annoying, and “On the Brink” seems lackluster and offers more flash than substance. C’mon guys, you’re not only wrapping up a five-part journey, you’re wrapping up the entire album. I want a soaring crescendo! I want fireworks! A grand finale is the worst possible place to fall flat. But hey, I’m not here to decry this album, I’m here to tell you why it’s great, and it is legitimately great despite its shortcomings. If you’ve never heard Coheed and Cambria you would still do well to pick this album up. Just know that, as good as it is, they’re capable of even better.

I was first introduced to The Shins via two tracks on the Garden State soundtrack. Those songs were so hooky, somehow different than anything I had heard before, and just irresistibly charming. So when the band released a new recording I leapt at the chance to immerse myself in a proper album to see just what they were all about. I have to admit, it was not an easy process. I heard some things I liked, yet other parts seemed too poppy, too happy, maybe even vapid. Unraveling it all and putting it in perspective took time. Maybe I’m overcomplicating things…you could certainly argue that this music is simple, straightforward indie rock. But to me it was a tease, dropping hints here and there, laying a trail of harmonic bread crumbs and insisting I follow them. There are various references here, none of them so prevalent as to be overwhelming, but certainly present. “Australia” bears more than a passing resemblance to The Smiths with its rhythmic backbone harkening to the early days of Morrissey and company. But overall there’s something just undeniably retro about these songs. The simple guitar strums of “Phantom Limb” are straight out of the 1950s…think Marty McFly playing “Earth Angel” in the first Back to the Future movie. And there are other little hints of ‘60s and ‘70s pop as well, but I still find it nearly impossible to put a finger on any of it. I think James Mercer’s sweet and pleasing vocals may well play a part. The latter portion of “Sealegs” is full of proggy little keyboards dancing around a bouncing, wriggling bass line. “Turn on Me” is one of those tracks that just seems too upbeat, yet its simple genius (and again, a weird similarity to The Smiths) won me over and now I adore it. The tone of the album does grow considerably darker for the ethereal “Black Wave” and enchanting “Spilt Needles,” but bounces back with the perky “Girl Sailor.” The disc rounds out with the absolutely lovely “A Comet Appears,” a perfect acoustic denouement to this intriguing collection of songs. Though it is difficult to say what it is about this album I find so incredibly compelling, the overall essence is clear: like those first two songs I heard, it’s ridiculously charming, and I am helpless against that charm, whirling in the ether of their pop brilliance.

A deep thrumming threads through to your core, conquering your senses. It is friendly but mischievous. It is jovial but stern. There is space, a black vastness dotted with sparkling stars from an old year. It is sad but sinister. It is lonely and wicked. Hope transfigures the horizon. It is ephemeral but it swells around you. It will rock you. A shaft of light tries to pierce a thick fog as you lie weightless and horizontal. It struggles and nearly disappears. It succeeds and explodes across a prism. When you take your medicine you find that it is sweet and warms your throat. It awakens a deep longing. You cannot escape your melancholy regret. In the distance a man stares at you with bright eyes. He has a handsome face and a kind voice. He has killed before. There is a field dappled in sunshine. You hold out your arms to embrace mother earth. Tears begin to flow and the ground rumbles beneath the feet of all living things. Planets are dancing a slow waltz. From Stanlow a child stares at a deepening red sky. A pulse ripples through the stratosphere and existence winks out.

These cult indie kids have returned to once again turn preconceptions inside out. With the previous album The Great Destroyer they had moved away from the slowcore of old and nearly made a pure rock album. But if you’re expecting the same on Drums and Guns, you’ll be utterly dumbfounded from the beginning. Opener “Pretty People” is a grim ambient blast to the psyche. Continuing the tradition of place names as second track song titles, the album then brings us the airy and lilting “Belarus.” “Breaker,” my favorite of the album, has four simple elements: a sort of hollow knocking beat, what sounds like a light version of a church organ, hand claps, and beautiful layered vocals from duo Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk, crooning forth dark and poignant lyrics. The result is a song both stunning and magical in its effectiveness. As for the album as a whole, the band are not kidding about the drums and guns thing. The CD booklet consists of almost nothing but photos of drums or other percussive devices…and guns. It’s a little creepy, actually, the dull black or silver metal of those weapons lying there on dated blood-red berber carpet. They’re disquieting and ominous, which is precisely what Low are capable of being. But, like on the last album, they also manage to construct deliciously clever, ironic lyrics. Half-serious, half-amusing, and entirely unique, tracks like “Hatchet” and especially “Murderer” make me grin while also being quite sinister. In many ways this album could have been named Drums and Bass instead and that would have offered a fine clue to what lies within. Beats of one kind or another and deep tones form the core of many of the tracks. “Violent Past” is a great example, held to the ground by a huge radiant backbone of that church organ again, this time thicker and heavier. Sparse, often minimalistic, there’s a lot of space within these songs, a cold white loveliness, drawn and pale. It’s another chapter in the story of Low, a tale that will hopefully span many more years.

In a selfless free-thinking move (which, to be honest, has already been done at least once before by the Smashing Pumpkins), Radiohead decided to release their latest album as a download-only version publicly available on their website. The added twist was that you could pay whatever you felt it was worth. I don’t know if zero dollars was an option; I was more than happy to support them by throwing ten bucks their way. For a band this visionary and talented it was worth every penny. Of course, I recently found out that the release also became available in stores on New Year’s Day. Oh well. In Rainbows finds the band treading somewhat familiar paths, but then again, no two Radiohead albums are alike. “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” flows with brilliant liquid ambience before its dance-beat breakdown. “All I Need” throbs and hums with a gigantic, somber bass line, providing a powerful backdrop for the lachrymose instrumentation laid upon it. “Jigsaw Falling Into Place” is a beat-driven, funky track, changing things up nicely before closer “Videotape” lays down the suffocating gloom. Thom Yorke is in impeccable form once again, crooning his way into the darkest recesses of your soul. On “Reckoner” he achieves a haunting tone as chilling and beautiful as a brutally crisp winter’s day, freezing your blood even as you marvel at its wonder. It’s the album’s finest track, and rest assured that there isn’t a stinker among them. Radiohead aren’t exactly smashing through any boundaries here, but they’ve delivered ten tracks of provocative, emotional art. They’ve been at it for almost 15 years now, and they are masters of their game.

Alcest is the project of one man, and that man is Neige. Really, Alcest is the byproduct of another band called Amesoeurs, which Neige formed with Audrey Sylvain and Fursy Teyssier. Teyssier left the band before the recording of the monumentally amazing Ruines Humaines EP, yet on Souvenirs… Sylvain provides vocals on one track and Teyssier did the layout for the CD booklet, so in a way the same band is together again. But whereas Amesoeurs created epic gray hymns akin to early Katatonia, Alcest focuses on the brighter side of life. Sort of. Generally lighter in style, and even featuring some bright and frilly songs written in major chords, there is still a backbone of melancholy to the material. It also occasionally utilizes black metal tempos and the mesmerizing guitar work has much in common with great pagan and black metal artists. Now top it all off with gentle, ethereal vocals and what you’ve got is Mew meets Burzum. Yeah, you read that right. There are many moments of this album that get me thinking of Mew’s brilliant prog-rock opus And the Glass Handed Kites. Yet spin the entrancing “Les Iris” and “Sur l’autre Rive Je T’attendrai” and tell me that’s not atmospheric black metal in the vein of Agalloch or Drudkh. Even the arguably cheery “Tir Nan Og” has a section of acoustic guitar that sounds like it could have been lifted from Agalloch. In fact some of these tracks sound very much like Agalloch’s hallowed Pale Folklore. Just not the vocals, never the vocals. But that’s exactly what works so beautifully here, the contrast and merging of these styles into a cohesive whole. According to the Amesoeurs MySpace page they’ll be releasing a full-length album in 2008. That should prove quite exciting, but in the meantime admire the trees, enjoy the sunshine, and consider your mortality while Alcest whisks you away. Another world, indeed.

If you lament the loss of doom geniuses Morgion (and you likely don’t, since they were totally underappreciated), lament no longer. Justin Christian and Rhett Davis of that mighty force gathered a new crew together to form Keen of the Crow. The result, while not a dead ringer for Morgion, is perhaps equally stunning. And actually, you will still lament…lament your lonely existence, your impending death, and the sorrows of ancient time. All this darkness and more will be yours to behold as Hyborea descends upon you. Chock full of thick doom riffs and evocative melodies, it washes over the mind like a black sea. Vocalist Dan Ochoa summons no small amount of rage to his bellows, but these are interspersed with seemingly offbeat surprises that lend more texture and substance. The devastating “Where Dead Kings Lie,” for example, pummels you for seven-and-a-half minutes then suddenly takes a break for some clean-sung and very minstrel-like lyrical lines. It caught me off guard at first but it works beautifully. “Left for the Wolves” is a mid-paced bruiser with grand melodies galore. This track is definitely one that evokes Morgion. “To Reach Emptiness” and “Valeria” bear a welcome likeness to Primordial at times, the latter in a gorgeous guitar break that follows a seething percussive attack. Closing track (if you don’t count the instrumental Epilogue) “Stygian Black Lotus” is utterly magnificent, with a poignant, massively epic melody line redolent of Silent Enigma-era Anathema. Believe it or not, the Prologue and Epilogue, as well as “The Eye of the Serpent,” are actually adapted from the film Conan the Barbarian. Furthermore, all the lyrical content is adapted from the film’s screenplay and from the short stories of early 20th century author Robert E. Howard, inventor of the Sword and Sorcery genre and creator of the Conan character. So yeah, these guys are really into Conan the Barbarian. But I couldn’t care less what their muse is, because music this good stands independently and proudly regardless of its genesis. Hyborea is an absolute triumph.

I was led to this band by fate, with no warning. You see, I was fortunate to catch Wolves in the Throne Room live a few months ago. However, upon arriving at the venue I feared I had already missed half their set. A sound not unlike the Wolves greeted my ears, and I found three men upon the stage, the same number as are in Wolves. A few minutes of listening revealed that either these were songs I’d never heard, or a different band altogether. After looking over the merchandise table and spending several minutes peering at an indecipherable band logo, I determined some unknown act was playing, a band that had never been listed on the roster for the evening. That band was Lo-Ruhamah, who hail from the unlikely locale of Kansas City, Missouri, and they are further proof that the American black metal scene is positively thriving right now. Instrumental “The Cloud of My Soul” wastes no time in getting down to business, immediately locking into high gear for a speed-drenched assault. As it seamlessly melds into “As We Walk,” the over-the-top vocals arrive. Both the bassist and guitarist shred their throats, the first with a high shriek barely within the range of human hearing, the second with a roaring bellow. The approach is unquestionably intense. But lest I lead you to believe this album is only about intensity, know that things quickly turn varied and progressive, bearing much similarity to Opeth. The bass lines in particular are strongly reminiscent of early Opeth, especially in “As We Walk” and “Rose & Ivory.” The latter also weaves in acoustics much akin to the Swedish prog masters, but then abruptly switches back to more black metal pummeling. “Shear-Jasub” again summons the Opethian muse with cleanly sung vocals and progressive rhythms and structure. Actually it is almost unnervingly similar to Opeth at times, as is “What Lines Reveal,” yet the album as a whole is original enough to prove that Lo-Ruhamah have their own thing going. In the area of lyrical content that is most certainly the case. Themes seem to revolve around monotheistic religion, not the Christianity of modern day, but rather an ancient form of Judaism. Yahweh is mentioned once, but there are also references to mysticism and a quote by Jean-Paul Sartre, an atheist. The words are somewhat open to interpretation, but they make for interesting consideration and a fascinating backdrop for this remarkable album. Through its masterful twists and turns, its veering between eloquence and brutal punishment, The Glory of God makes for riveting listening. As the mesmerizing guitar buzz of “Regret Not This Love” moves the disc toward closure, you’ll find yourself wanting to start the experience all over again.

Primordial consistently put out powerful, stirring albums, but those albums tend to be growers. That is, they require a few listens before the inevitable brilliance becomes apparent. To the Nameless Dead, however, has an immediacy to it that makes it compelling from the first listen. By the second listen I was utterly hooked and beyond that I was even a little taken aback by how good it truly is. Though these songs are certainly recognizable as Primordial, I think the band have achieved a new level of atmosphere here with absolutely stellar songwriting. The chord changes and arrangements are such that every track contains an articulate energy that’s operating on a whole other plane. Also, throughout many of these songs vocalist A.A. Nemtheanga’s voice has a new edge, bursting with a manic, intense passion that adds another layer and ups the ante even further. Opener “Empire Falls” centers on a quick-paced epic riff similar to that of Anathema’s “A Dying Wish,” causing my pagan heart to gloriously rejoice at every note. “Gallows Hymn” is pure majesty, all wretchedness and despair, the whirling, mesmerizing guitar line a futile prayer to forsaken gods. “Heathen Tribes” is a fist-pumping homage to precisely that, dedicated to all the Primordial fans across the Earth, the heathen brotherhood. “Traitors Gate” bears down at blazing black metal speed, seething with savage grandeur. Finale “No Nation on This Earth,” with its huge alternating riffs, is a work of spine-tingling splendor. For as much excellent musical art as Primordial have delivered over the past decade or so, this time they have outdone themselves. Simply put, To the Nameless Dead is an awe-inspiring masterpiece.

Hear that? The crackle of flames. It is the burning of your modern world, your so-called civilized institutions, soon to be reduced to ash in a blaze of heathen glory. Moonsorrow are plainly unafraid to embrace whatever compositional notions they see fit, and if that’s too much for some to handle then so be it. If the five-track, thirteen-minute-per-song Verisakeet didn’t challenge you, then make way for Chapter Five – Ravaged (the English translation of the album title), a grand journey comprised of two tracks and spanning 56 minutes and 30 seconds. This one, dear friends, is not to be approached lightly. It takes time, time to understand the enormous beauty within. The band are in no hurry and six minutes pass before things even begin to kick into gear. I will freely admit that such an approach is a deterrent to readily appreciating an album, but I stuck with it. The pantheon of gods demanded that I do so, so that I might begin to grasp these anthems in their honor. And after a few listens I not only accepted this slow build, I came to revel in it. Each step is so deliberate, so beautifully constructed, that to move along any faster would have defeated the entire purpose. The use of accordion, mouth harp and mandolin lends a lush folk feel to the proceedings, creating the ambience for which Moonsorrow have made themselves known. You’ll just be settling in to that vibe when the balls-out fury of a black metal section will periodically burst forth like water from a shattered dam to keep things lively. Still, it is in the reasoned and purposeful folk-driven passages that the group define who they are, and no other musical act has managed to copy them. With each release Moonsorrow dig deeper into the murky, torch-lit past, and the pagan majesty on offer here is stunning to behold. I raise a fist to you, great masters; lead me onward to Valhalla!

Last year I made a terrible mistake. I placed Wolves in the Throne Room’s Diadem of 12 Stars at #6 on my Top 15 list. Only after the list was completed and released to the world did something click with me; the album’s secrets were revealed, I became completely obsessed with it, and I realized the error of my ways. Diadem… was, without question, last year’s greatest album and will go down as one of the greatest albums of any year. But I cannot change the past. And so, already blessed with new material from this incredible band, I seek to mitigate past folly instead. Do you then think me falsely motivated, swayed to praise that which may not warrant it? Think what you will, but the Wolves have delivered once again, delivered beyond all hope. Two Hunters is a soul-scathing work of such immense artistry that it defies belief. “Dea Artio” is the instrumental opener, and there is something of Anathema in its big, resonating chords. It sets the stage for the bleak and ravishing coldness that will follow. “Vastness and Sorrow” is quintessential Wolves, battering away with frigid speed, then caressed by transcendent melodies through to the finish. “Cleansing” begins with female vocals and sounds like it’s being conjured from mist, like a forlorn ballad sung by wood elves as they march to the Grey Havens. Until, of course, it is wiped away by hypnotic, flailing drums and guitars and otherworldly shrieking vocals. The band save the best for last with perhaps the greatest pagan hymn ever crafted, the mindblowing “I Will Lay Down My Bones Among the Rocks and Roots.” Summoning all the grief and fury that nature has to offer, this song bends and swirls around central guitar melodies that channel pure primal beauty. It is a splendor almost too great to comprehend, a whooshing of the cosmos above and the abyss below, tapping into life’s very essence. It holds me rapt, close to tears, despondent and aching with loss, overcome by surging power. Clocking in at 18+ minutes, the track is orchestral and momentous, transporting the listener on an extraordinary odyssey. And that’s it, just four tracks, but a full album’s worth of emotional fulfillment. Earlier this year I was stunned and thrilled to learn the band would be playing here in Des Moines, Iowa and I gleefully attended the show. Soft-spoken and serious, with little fanfare, they simply played the entirety of this album in order, start to finish. It was a mesmerizing experience, and I can assure you they are true artists, passionately dedicated to their work. Though it took me some time to catch on, I now consider them one of the finest bands that have ever graced my ears. Their black art is eternal, vivacious, consuming.