This sophomore album from Brooklyn, NY-based quintet Hull opens with a thunderous blast, more psychotic that psychedelic. Then, about three minutes into "Earth From Water," the cacophony changes, slows down, breaks apart and becomes layered. After the initial avalanche, the songs become a series of small collapses, with the real danger of crush injuries. The occasional bit of clean singing is combined with harsh vocals, bowel-shuddering growls and manic shrieks, to fantastic effect.
|Photo by Carmelo Española.|
The guitar sound is sinewy and massive, like a terror bird stretching its wings. Occasional clear iridescent shimmers, like the rainbow on top of an oil slick, define the syrupy guitar tone. Beyond the Lightless Sky plays with ideas of weight and weightlessness. Like the hull of a vast freighter, the album is at once impossibly heavy yet capable of staying afloat, cutting through waves like a hot knife through better. Hull have made something immense and nimble, ponderous and powerful.
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