Originally written by Ian Chainey
It’s a critic-cliche to stare at an album cover and utter, “Holy shit, that’s it!” Do it and you’re asking to be dubbed Dumb Profundity Incarnate, in jeopardy of getting bumped down the writer’s hierarchy to Christmas cracker pun-runner. Yeah, no shit Baudelaire, smart art, apt art, does its job and provides an in-roads. Well, most of the time. Metal, despite amplifying its artistic eye over the last couple decades, occasionally struggles to care. Just toss a brained babe up front and call it a special emission, that sorta silliness. What those kvlt Kinkade’s don’t get is the doodle is part of the total package (honest, “package” extends beyond your codpiece), often the first-line spokesperson to the record-rack peruser. It doesn’t have to be beautiful or brilliant, it just has to fit. To wit, Dallas’s Elliott’s Keep offers a pic of old-school fortification, free of modern bells n’ hooters, and starkly decorated in effective, battle-tested designs. It nails the band name, but then the CD does a few thousand revolutions and you think, Oh, holy shit, that’s it.
See, Elliott’s Keep sounds spartan. Unadorned. The trad trio strike their strings and bang their heads not unlike Manilla Road, though they travel the trail out of Necropolis (north, west, south, west) to the more defensible position mentioned above. The vital bits exist on the other side of the bricks: men wielding weapons forged by different style smiths. Black metals, death metals, doom metals are within grasp. That said, their use of these war-tools are rather reactionary. When the moment is right, they’ll give you a poke. Not before, not after. These knights are patient. Yeah, patient.
Once more, with feeling: Patient.
So, unless you’re living an Encino Man scenario, LP number three, Nascentes Morimur, will flummox modern ears with its Epicureanism. It’s not totally our fault, we’re just used to every outfit attempting to pass a musical Fizz Buzz test within the first couple of seconds. We’ve become acclimated to the audio amphetamines. End adaptation: Elliott’s Keep‘s unhurried nature is now alien. It’s a grandparent expecting a conversation with full eye contact while the phantom bzzzt of your phone makes every finger itch. Wasn’t always this way, but it is now. That means your age and experience will ultimately decide whether Nascentes Morimur is a minimalistic, effective delight or a giant, gutted rook without creature comforts.
True, Elliott’s Keep‘s keepers restrain themselves with a Wire-istic M.O., not so much in song length/repetition, but song design. If it doesn’t need to be there, it’s not. Tunes are health-nut skinny courtesy of a liquid diet of raw riffs and pushed-away plates of fattening solos. Seriously, it makes Pale Divine seem like the Heart Attack Grill. Want a gander at the goods? Ladies and gentlemen, your shrunken Nascentes Morimur menu: guitar, bass, and drums. Specials? No specials. If you’re not antsy, you’re treated to the wafer-thin dessert of Skycladian fiddle on closer “Gates Beyond.” Skimpy portions notwithstanding, the service is good. The waiter is around enough to hold your attention. At times he has a sneering growl, others a clean croon, though he’s always pulling extra shifts as narrator and Greek chorus. Not surprisingly, the band is cognizant of economy here as well. Even at their wackiest and most-indulgent (an unfair snatch of the typically elegant LOTR/tabletop gaming lyrics: “Three for the greatest/ The fairest!“), Elliott’s Keep is desert-dry and straight-faced all the way through. It’s, like, a sane Reverend Bizarre. A depressed Reverend Bizarre fixated on its mortality and, apparently, resturant margins, but a sane one nonetheless.
Whether you accept Nascentes Morimur for what it is depends on how your body handles the instant fast. You’ll either pass out from starvation or feel energized entering ketosis. If the latter, the songwriting packs in enough natural flavor, owing its unseasoned deliciousness to organic progressions without gene mutation. Keep obviously spent countless hours winnowing this set into shape, knowing the illusions of needless bombast, mixing-board-diddling, or ear-candy armor were a poor choice for their aesthetic. There are hiccups – the occasional ill-timed Confessor rhythm, the samey structures – that are hard to suppress, but, for the most part, what they play is titan strong. It’s built to last, which is notable in and of itself, and absolutely incongruous with modern trends. It’s like Upworthy suddenly shifting brand focus towards a tome of calligraphy.
Yet, don’t believe for a second this is being sold to you for its ascetic morals. Puritan, please! Given the right atmosphere, it can be a gas. It can follow the Solstices and lonely Aeturnuses, it can light the wick of the same emotions stirred by autumnal Leifs turning color. No need to be frightened, then. They’ll welcome you. The keep appears imposing, but the door is open around the back. That’s it.
