Deafheaven – Sunbather Review

originally written by Jordan Campbell

There’s always a certain amount of skepticism that haunts a band that attempts to merge seemingly divergent styles. And when one of those styles is heavy metal, people transform from skeptics to irrational mouth-breathers with frightening speed.

But, honestly, who can blame them? The nineties actually happened, and for some, the wounds are still fresh. Many are still sore that the general public has a skewed perception of heavy metal culture—which is true, but largely inconsequential—while others have been permanently soured on the prospect of cross-pollination after surviving a decade that wrought a spectrum of terribleness spanning from Mordred to Mushroomhead. Essentially, the nu-metal plague eradicated experimentation by virtue of its wholesale shittiness, and as a result, metal culture has retreated inward and worn its conservatism like faded black armor. Purity is virtuous.

Ideological battles aside, the main problem with bands that meld genres is that it’s rarely convincing; the chemistry is inorganic. If the act in question was adept at either of their sampled fields, they’d commit to one of ‘em, wouldn’t they? The dudes from Hacktivist would be cutting mixtapes instead of struggling with djentrification, and Neige would just ditch the blasts completely and flutter off to Neverland. Right?

So, if Deafheaven was a real black metal band, they’d be ripping spiked weirdness through Debemur Morti. Right? If they were a real shoegaze / post-rock outfit, they’d be on the tongues of pop-culture music nerds and have their sights set on opening for Kanye West. Right?

Well, about that last point: P-fork BNM’d ‘em with a flustered fit of name-dropping that would make a gossip columnist blush, and they’re getting play at Grantland.  So they’re on their way. But do shoegaze kids even care about the notion of “realness”? Is there a set of tropes that need to be tick-tacked in order garner endorsement from their own insular scene? If these exist, I’m not aware of them. Nor am I willing to do the research.

However, there are most certainly a set of rules that black metal purveyors must reference, and, luckily for you, I’ve been embedded in that minefield for quite some time. Thus, confidently, it can be declared:

The raging, barely-chained black metal passages found on Sunbather are the finest American examples of the style since A Spell For the Death of Man.

Deafheaven has made a colossal leap from their debut record, Roads to Judah, by amplifying a crucial aspect: Corrosion. Previously, on tracks like “Language Games,” the post-rock / black metal marriage was jarring, awkward, and ultimately unconvincing. Tinny, Cascadian blasts rode rigidly beneath Kerry McCoy’s weepy anti-riffery, and the overall effect sounded almost ramshackle when stacked against, say, Lantlôs.

By contrast, Sunbather is a confident, crackling statement by a band with a voice that’s finally catching up to its concept. McCoy’s multi-layered riffs are given new life by (session?) drummer Daniel Tracy; while McCoy’s textural flirtations with The Edge could hold their own sans accompaniment, the charred swarms of “Vertigo” wouldn’t have nearly the impact if backed by the sticks of a lesser man. Tracy’s contribution to the metallic side of this record cannot be understated; he two-handedly legitimizes this album as a furious, fatal force.

Pure power can’t carry an album, however, and McCoy and vocalist George Clarke have crafted a sweeping, intricate album upon which that weight can be gracefully framed. Sunbather‘s seven tracks are pillared by four ten-to-fifteen minute compositions, and webbed together by three interludes that are oh-so-much-more. These cuts propel the narrative in haunting, dexterous waves: “Irresistible” bridges “Dream House” and the title track with Alcest-y sleepscapes; “Please Remember” swells to white noise before breaking trance with lifting, mournful acoustics, and “Windows” brings horrific gravitas to the final opus, “The Pecan Tree.”

“The Pecan Tree” is the most fully-realized snapshot of Deafheaven’s transformation from buzzed-up novelty act to minor icon. They aren’t the first to blend these styles—nor will they be the last, given how this thing is currently exploding—but they’re arguably the first to marry them without sacrificing the impact of each aspect. “The Pecan Tree” deftly weaves from Eastern European stomp (think Drudkh waxed to a German sheen) to dream-bombed bliss without an stilted jam or forced maw. But it harbors a brilliant / brutal trick: That blissed-out climax is a sham. Outwardly, McCoy’s fingers are preaching hope, but Clarke’s searching screams are grounded by woeful, crushing internalization. It’s a duality that pulses through Sunbather’s entirety, and the iron braid that tethers these two worlds belongs to Deafheaven and Deafheaven alone.

I’ll spare you a screed on the resonance of Clarke’s words, which defiantly fly in the face of scene conventions, yet—tellingly—actually evoke something. And I’ll gladly axe the “scene conventions” conversation entirely if we can step back and appreciate Sunbather for what it truly is: One of the year’s finest works, genre be damned. Daringly, Deafheaven mortared themselves into a corner from their inception, and though it took a few awkward years of clawing to establish that corner as their own, they’ve finally achieved supremacy.

Even with album art that looks like a tampon advertisement.

Posted by Old Guard

The retired elite of LastRites/MetalReview.

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