Originally written by Jordan Campbell
Author & Punisher is a fascinating entity. Tristan Shone’s project rose to prominence with last year’s Ursus Americanus (his fourth album overall, and second to be constructed by implements of his own design), a devastating, highly corrosive experiment in sonic manipulation.
Pinpointing the Author & Punisher sound has been a bit of a self-serving game for critics, chiefly played by whipping out every descriptor possible until something sticks: Industrial, drone, dubstep (!), noise, doom…
…ah, doom. That’s sufficiently Last Ritesian, isn’t it? There’s your hook: You want to hear doom metal produced by an entity antithetical to the musty, old-balls, four-guys-in-a-room config. While dropping “dubstep” into A & P’s tag cloud is an epic stretch of bullshittery, this here be some DOOM, honest to badness. Yes, when that first “riff” emerges in the final half of the opening / title track, skeptics shall be smote.
While it is indeed a feat to twist a time-worn sound out of something so innovative, simple reanimation could easily descend into gimmickry. Smartly, Women & Children is a much more varied and experimental record than Ursus Americanus. That was a crushing exhibition in its own right, assuredly, but Shone is seemingly aware of those limitations and isn’t content to idly recreate his past work.
However, the experiments that pepper Women & Children don’t always yield the desired results. The opening tracks deliver the kind of relentlessness that one would expect to be piggybacked from the last record, and they prove to be the most riveting. But as W&C unfolds, it reveals itself to be as a far less abrasive work than its predecessor. Shone attempts to lull his victims into a false sense of comfort—a technique not dissimilar in spirit to the brutal deceptions that Dominick Fernow rode to great success on Bermuda Drain—but (ironically) lacks the tools to create a true sense of tension.
The record’s Achilles snaps free in the back half. The off-kilter keys on “Tame as a Lion” reek of ham-fisted horror. On the clunky “Fearce,” Shone takes on the role of Wreck-Gar and mines recycled pulsations from his own private Junkion. And the closing tracks, the dream-drone snoozer “Miles From Home” and the too-naked ballad “Pain Myself,” are irreparably gutted by Shone’s toothless, sub-Broadrick cleans.
Women & Children is an obvious transitional record, and a brave one at that, wearing its flaws like glistening armor. And while Author & Punisher is certainly one of the coolest, most unique projects currently active, Shone’s imposing implements and stage show aren’t portable. I’ve previously waxed romantic about the rare acts that bring the complete package, but Author & Punisher are even rarer, an act that is on the cusp of putting the whole damn thing together, yet comes up short in the most crucial aspect of communicative vitality: The album.
