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Most people probably don't hear the term 'death doom' and think 'now THAT'S what I call bedtime music!' Say what you will about the time signatures or a perceived lack of energy when compared to, say, war metal, but the staple growls and tomb rattling guitars of death-doom aren't exactly synonymous with lullabies, either. Typically I'd agree with the nocturnal naysayers, but typically my life has been spent unaware of Eversleep. Never before have I considered an album's ability to put me to sleep to be a glowing testament to its execution, but here we are, getting tucked in by Talsur.
Eversleep opens on a few deceptive notes of stoner doom, lazily lofting along and causing one to wonder just where this album's gonna wind up, but things quickly go downhill and subsequently uphill into mournful, ethereal doom of a much more straightforward melancholic variety, and that's where they remain for 54 minutes. Like any doom act worth the salt of their tears, weeping Katatonic guitars Enshine these otherwise darkened skies, illuminating a landscape of further crushing sadness forged by the harsh spirits of Novembers Doom and Swallow the Sun. Throw in some languidly lovely degrees of Draconian and Saturnus worship and BOOM, you have Talsur.
While the instrumental section checks pretty much every box I have for melancholic must-do's, one-man Russian army of doom Vitaly Surkov's vocals threw me a pleasant curveball. The easiest descriptor for his style would have to be 'Mikael Stanne's cleans on misophonia mode.' Surkov's overall pitch and tone is indeed highly reminiscent of Stanne's relatively rare demonstrations of clean croonery, but there's a certain rolling timbre to his deepest register that quite literally gives me chills when I hear it. This quiet thundering instills a sense of particularly believable despair, evoking an atmosphere of serene resignation to defeat rather unlike anything I've heard before.
In either a brilliant production move or else a happy accident, the consistently soft mix of Eversleep in turn offers a surprise of its own - namely in the muted manner that its most tumultuous moments are meted out; the most jarring moments of the album rarely get any louder than the softer surrounding soundscape, meaning you can fall asleep to this one without any fear of it ripping you back to consciousness when things get good 'n heavy. Intentional or otherwise, I adore this effect, and at the risk of a lawsuit I must confess that I've been sleeping with Talsur every night as a result.
All in all, Eversleep feels like a pleasant dream about a miserable home, or perhaps a nightmare about happier times. It's as soothing as it is sorrowful, as peacefully placating as it is powerful and plangent. It's a violent hug from a tear-soaked monster, and it's more than welcome to hide under my bed any night.