Aureole - Alunar

By Justin C. I've been wanting to write about one of Fallen Empire's releases for a while, but I had trouble deciding on which one. I've been gobbling up nearly all of them as soon as I can get my grubby, digital mitts on them. A lot of them, like the Skáphe and Eos releases previously featured here have had immediate appeal

By Justin C.

Art by Ariella Vaystukh

I've been wanting to write about one of Fallen Empire's releases for a while, but I had trouble deciding on which one. I've been gobbling up nearly all of them as soon as I can get my grubby, digital mitts on them. A lot of them, like the Skáphe and Eos releases previously featured here have had immediate appeal, but I ultimately decided to talk about one that took a while to sink in, Aureole's spaced-out epic Alunar.

This is doomy, ambient black metal. I hesitate to label it "ambient" because that's not a flavor of music that I'm typically very interested in--it suggests a certain formlessness that doesn't hold my attention. But in spite of being slow-moving and, at times, barely-there music, I eventually succumbed completely to the charms of this album. Fallen Empire's Bandcamp describe Alunar like this: "The debut album from AUREOLE takes us to the helm of Citadel Alunar, exposing the unforgiving reality of our universe." The world "helm" certainly suggests a spaceship of some sort, even if it's only metaphorical, and listening to this often feels like a very isolated journey through the depths of space, not unlike perhaps Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, but even lonelier and more desolate. And if you want to hear what desolation-made-into-music sounds like, let yourself be hypnotized by the sparse, echoing percussion sound in the album closer, "V: Alunar, Decrepit..."

I initially found it difficult to write about this release because the music is so impressionistic.** Imagine Monet painting a nebula and then that somehow being translated directly into music. The melodies are strong but melancholy. The tremolos wash through, almost like cosmic background radiation. There are lots of different sounds, familiar but yet somehow strange and new, like otherworldly chimes, bells, and stringed instruments that may not actually exist in reality. The vocals are pure black metal, but they don't appear often, and when they do, they're buried in the mix, sounding like a weak transmission coming from some far off place.

As you might guess, this is an album that's meant to be taken as a whole, but if there's a centerpiece, I'd say it's "IV: Crusade of NGC 5128." The slow, tribal drums and the ebbs and flows in the melody are probably some of the most evocative on the album. "Crusade" initially made me think of a fleet of starships slowly closing in, but when I read that "NGC 5128" is actually the designation of a galaxy that is in the process of devouring a nearby, smaller galaxy, the song took on a whole new meaning in my mind. Granted, that process doesn't sound like anything because there is no atmosphere in space for sound waves to travel in, but in a more figurative sense, the song could easily be the soundtrack for the slow collision of two massive systems.

This is one of those albums I really want you to give a chance to, even if, like me, the "ambient" label isn't a big draw. Like any genre of music, there are true gems that transcend what our perceptions of that genre are, and I think Alunar is solidly in that category.



**I'm not really talking about the hallmarks of what's been called Impressionism in classical music in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, although there may be some similarities. I'm not enough of a music historian to say one way or the other, but I kept coming back to that term nonetheless.

Jucifer - District of Dystopia

Written by Matt Hinch.


You never really know what to expect from a Jucifer album. L'Autrichienne's cleanliness was a departure from If Thine Enemy Hunger. Throned in Blood got all black metal. The Russian Album brought down the doom. And now District of Dystopia changes things up again. One thing you can count on though is that anything from Jucifer is going to be loud.

If you've seen Jucifer live then you know just how loud they can be. I once couldn't walk a straight line after a show of theirs in a small club and it had nothing to do with the beer. So it is that the primal magic of District of Dystopia crystallizes in the cozy confines of Jucifer's own Winnebago. The devastation that occurs when Thee White Wall is erected on their never ending tour is just as potent, and loud, when played and recorded is such a constricting environment.

Photo by Pedro Roque.

The duo of Gazelle Amber Valentine and Edgar Livengood are nowhere near constricted here though. DoD is just as manic and muscular as anything they've done and possibly more chaotic. Doom and grind ricochet off the cabinets (both kinds) in erratic patterns over the course of 25 filthy minutes.

The stripped down and unpredictable approach makes so much sense though. DoD is a concept album about the District of Columbia, but chronicles hundreds of years of atrocity inflicted by the Americans “in power”. From the first off the Mayflower through to Obama, including Vietnam, Japanese internment camps in WWII, genocides, despicable treatment of Native Americans, military opportunism, Afghanistan and Iraq, ISIS and more all driven by one thing. Greed.

So DoD is kind of a wake up call if not exactly a protest album. Going all punk rock DIY, lo-fi and raw can be seen as a rebellion against “the system”. The expectation of the music industry/government I suppose is clean, civilized and conformist. DoD is dirty, unrefined and individual. Perhaps the inconsistency (in a good way) reflects the non-standard application of foreign policy?

Photo by Pedro Roque.

It's that feral energy that both Amber and Edgar bring to this recording that is its most endearing feature. Amber always pulls out all the stops in the Department of Riff Relations, from massive doom to primitive grind movements to noisy, off-the-wall unorthodoxy. Edgar too is at his brain-bashing best as Ambassador of Aggression changing course as the fluid structures dictate.

Keeping the song lengths down to a little over typical grind length (mostly under 3 minutes) the duo pack in a number of tempo changes as well as shifts in mood. It's done all the time but I'm always amazed at how a percussive change can totally alter the feel of a song from one moment to the next even though the riff stays the same. The inverse is true as well although Edgar is usually the one with the attention issues. His unconventional handling of the instrument is what makes him one of today’s very best drummers. Hands down.

The bond between the two is coiled tight on a musical level which comes as no surprise. However, there are few who can blend chaos, doom, death metal, noise and pure unrestrained energy into 1:56 and not miss a beat as on “Justice” the way they can. They are able to work in synchronicity and in opposition with ease.

Photo by Pedro Roque.

As raw, honest and just plain noisy as District of Dystopia is, grinding at the ears and slicing away any notion of sheen, the lyrics are not to be overlooked. Amber may be dispensing them in a shivering mix of screeches, barks, yowls and growls but on paper their poetic nature shines. Her brutal passion gives the words extra power and the essays she wrote to accompany the release reveal how deeply she feels about the topics discussed.

DoD may sound simple in its musical approach but lyrically it's anything but. It may sound like a couple meth-heads making an unholy racket in an RV but that's what makes it so beautiful. And so Jucifer. They've always done things their own way and this is no exception. It's gnarly, raw, primal, chaotic grinding doom with a little but of whatever thrown in for good measure. Most of all it is ugly. Just like history. Brutality, death and power.

“He who controls the past, controls the future.
And who controls the present, controls the past.”
George Orwell - 1984

[Go to the post to view the Bandcamp player]

A Pregnant Light - My Game Doesn't Have a Name

Written by Greg Majewski.


After three years of splits, singles and EPs, Damian Master finally released his first full-length album as A Pregnant Light on 11/11. For those not yet indoctrinated in the fertility cult, let me provide a brief rundown of what to expect on My Game Doesnt Have a Name: Master plays a raw yet disarmingly melodic blend of black metal and post-punk he calls “purple metal.” It’s an apt descriptor, considering the color’s feminine connotations and the sultry Golden Age starlets who graced the covers of his early output. Hell, dude even recorded a lovingly faithful cover of Madonna’s “Live to Tell” in 2012 with Bay Area metal mavens Sigrid Sheie (Hammers of Misfortune) and Kris Force (Amber Asylum) sharing lead vocals. So it goes without saying he ain’t afraid of a good hook.

The Madge influence is the dominant force behind Master’s pop sensibility, which is more present on My Game than anything in APL’s past. Master’s riffs are giant, impossibly catchy things, and My Game’s first half is a perfect introduction to the APL mystique. “Born to Ruin” and “Dream Addict” both lock into slide-driven halftime grooves, the latter balancing blast beats with backbeat and boasting leads more informed by Johnny Marr than Demonaz.

These early songs carry traces of Master’s 2013 EPs Domination Harmony and Stars Will Fall. Since those two beauties, he’s been working towards a clearer sound, pulling APL out of the basement haze that buried much of his earlier work. My Game is the first A Pregnant Light album recorded in a studio and the first to feature additional performers, as Master enlisted Jake Duhaime and Tim Lenger from his circle of bands in Grand Rapids, Mich. to play drums and bass, respectively.

Those two upgrades are readily apparent from the outset. While APL guitar tracks have possessed Kevin Shields levels of depth since the band’s inception, the mix itself requires less effort than previous releases to peel apart the layers Master has folded on top of each other. Opener “Unreachable Arc” gets right to it as Master builds a ringing hook that flows into effortless tremolo with guitar tracks in the left, center and right of the mix, each playing off the other and compliment and counterpoint. Master claims there are five or six guitar tracks on every song, but I lost count on a few. Previous efforts demanded good headphones to pull the subtle hooks from their tape hiss mausoleum. My Game demands good headphones and repeated listens to hear all the Easter Eggs Master left for us, all presented in stunning clarity.

It’s in My Game’s second half where Master’s earworms translate into clean singing, a recent addition to his vocal repertoire he balances with his established hardcore bellow. He practically croons during the bridges on “Fresh Flower Offering (Purple Night)” and “My Days and Nights In You,” the latter exploding into an anguished howl and a torrent of blasts, all after the poppiest, post-punkiest intro in APL’s catalogue.

My Game Doesn’t Have a Name was actually supposed to come out last year, but instead of celebrating the release of his first LP, Master found himself dead on the operating table during a lengthy surgery to correct a chronic spinal problem. After doctors revived him and completed the operation, Master put writing on hold and spent the next six months recuperating. His near-(or actual) death experience led him to adopt the creed “too tough to die,” an old Marine motto. It’s also the inspiration for the fatalist theme woven through the album’s lyrics, most notably on “Circle of Crying Women”:

Digging through the trash in my wake
You’ll find nothing
So stop looking
The secrets are here
In the songs I sang

It’s A Pregnant Light’s most fully realized statement to date, a microcosmic reflection of death from the perspective of the recently passed that stops on a dime during its hyperspeed tremolo for Master’s sing-songy refrain, “You know, you know, I had to go.” There’s the ear for a hook, Master’s uncanny ability to shape a simple melody into something cruelly catchy, his penchant for turning mortality into positivity. After all, “Who wouldn’t want a circle of crying women praying over their body?”

[Go to the post to view the Bandcamp player]