[Cover image by Keith Evans]
2004: For me, life and times were pretty much firing on all cylinders. I was entering my fifth year of living in the Bay Area; I had a wide net of diverse friends; another person equally involved in underground music found a way to love me; my job didn’t fully consume my brain and paid me enough to let loose; various animals lounged comfortably around my studio apartment; the DJ at my favorite bar played random songs from Vital Remains’ Dechristianize whenever I walked in on Friday nights (forever hails, Dr. Dave); and I was fully ensconced in a vibrant music scene that supplied an endless supply of new music, both live and in physical form from a pile of incredible record stores within easy distance. In short, outside of an occasional hold-up or random act of street violence, things were, as your dear ol’ gam-gam says, bussin’.
Plot twist: I had no clue what the hell I did to deserve the avalanche of goodness I was experiencing, and I know myself well enough today to understand that I probably spent a slice of each day interrogating that good fortune.
Fortunately, 2004 was stacked with music all too willing to serve as an accomplice to bleak side adventures, and being an individual perpetually interested in what’s current, this lead me down avenues heaped with underground black metal, sludge and the burgeoning doom scene—all of which were hitting new heights. There was Ruins of Beverast (Unlock the Shrine), Urfaust (Geist ist Teufel) and, prior to notoriety, Deathspell Omega (Si Monvmentvm Reqvires Circvmspice), all of which was shrouded in grave mystery. There was slow distress from Fleshpress (III – The Art of Losing All) and Esoteric (Subconscious Dissolution into the Continuum), plus a whole new world of Bay Area projects to investigate, including Cold Mourning, Crebain, Laudanum (heaviest live band) and a fully destructive new release from hometown heroes Neurosis (The Eye of Every Storm.) Suffice to say, my music listening habits saluted hard times with authority.
A CLARION CALL!!
I must have heard the trumpets subconsciously, because it was pure coincidence that I happened across Asunder’s debut full-length A Clarion Call late that summer. It wasn’t at all rare to find me perusing endless bins at Amoeba Records on a regular basis, but that album cover isn’t exactly something that jumps out and slaps you in the same way as, say, Cannibal Corpse’s The Wretched Spawn. Mind you, it’s still a good album cover—invitingly ark and organic in a fossilized fern sort of way—but I’m still not exactly sure what it is, beyond providing a suitable backdrop for the rest of the visuals, all of which I found quite enticing: the way the band outlined their logo gave it a crusty feel similar to Axegrinder; the title itself was curious and looked drifty / Tolkienesque; and the prospect of three songs clocking in at just over 40 minutes made me hope the experience would be especially immersive. (Note: hails for displaying the song lengths on the back cover to assure those unfamiliar with the band that they weren’t about to drop $15 on a 10-minute EP.)
Also an immediate draw was seeing the Life Is Abuse Records logo on the back cover. Having already discovered titles from label founder Mauz’s sludge / crust juggernaut Dystopia, in addition to getting knocked to the dirt by LIA releases from the likes of Brainoil and Ludicra, I knew to expect: 1) the unexpected, and 2) that the neighbors would hear the record later on through the walls.
As far as genre is concerned, the defining qualifier most often tossed around with regard to A Clarion Call is ‘funeral doom’, and that’s a reasonable declaration in that the record has a strong funereal whiff in that old-school Thergothon / Stream from the Heavens [1994] sort of way that hits sloooooooow but not so slow that you can vacuum the room between snare hits. Also tying the two records together: they both allow a sort of wobbly form of monastic singing to mingle with deep gutturals, and a raw form of crustiness sheaths their underbellies, coming across like a stenchcore record getting played too slow. That last bit is notable because funeral doom and death / doom have always been curious bedfellows with crust, reaching back to the days of, say, bands like Winter and Sorrow from NY, Japan’s Corrupted, or when Germany’s Worship shared a split alongside Agathocles. That crustiness heightens the raw, organic feel, as though the music thrusts up from lush soil teeming with industriously doomy microorganisms.
So, yes, funeral doom is a valid identifier here, but there’s actually quite a bit more to A Clarion Call than just following in the direct footsteps of Thergothon, Skepticism or the earliest works of Mournful Congregation. Death / doom, funeral doom’s closest cousin, is very much fused to the crux here, and for those who remain unaware of the differences, it is death / doom that spends less (and occasionally no) time plodding at a glacial pace, and it is also death / doom that’s generally more bold about underscoring supplementary tones that provide added texture—gothic or majestic elements, both of which happen to be woven into A Clarion Call.
Furthermore, sludge and a more classic face of doom also color the corners of A Clarion Call, coiling the hammer-to-the-face heaviness of a record like Warhorse’s As Heaven Turns to Ash… [2001] around the sheer misery of Cathedral’s unconquerable Forest of Equilibrium [1991] to give the overall mood an even stronger sense of punishing grief. All in, whether directly or indirectly, Asunder’s sound circa 2004 felt as if it drew influence from the full spectrum of doom, and if you’re interested in dissecting the 11 herbs & spices even further, consider the following collage as a plausible recipe for success:
HEARING IS BELIEVING
As Paul Hollywood is so fond of saying, “the proof is in the pudding,” and in this case the pudding happens to be sentient, it is miserable, it is pitiless, and it is going to pull ol’ Paul into its sodden maw and eventually excrete his bleached bones into the foul slough whence yon pudding came. SOMEONE HAS TO GO HOME, PAUL, and your new home is caped in anguish. Bring a sweater.
There is no better opening foray into a death / doom album than “Twilight Amaranthine.” There may be equals, I confess, but none better. Sure, that’s a lofty statement, but this opener captures absolutely everything that makes this particular extreme metal thruway into an impossibly dark forest so gratifying and effective / affective.
The opening moments of “Twilight Amaranthine” are soft and pensive, with velvety cello wrapping around gentle guitar to set an early somber tone. Then, just after the 40-second mark and following a pleasant little drum fill, the record’s first fist hits the face. Hopefully you notice that the guitar tone alone on this record scores an 11/10, straddling the line between ‘miserable decay’ and ‘weightily crushing’ with the confidence of a pissed deity. That tone gifts the opening riff enough heft to crumble concrete, and the way the band works in a more melodic and sorrowful second guitar accompaniment at 1:30 is blessed doom purity to the Nth degree.
Being a 15 minute-long song, there’s plenty of room to vary the structure, and Asunder does so by mixing up the tempo in modest degrees and peppering the corners with bumps in majesty (4:30), misery (7:30) or outright beauty (11:00). Worshipful guitar tone aside, one of the other principal factors that places A Clarion Call in a wholly separate echelon compared to so many peers is the fact that drummer / vocalist Dino Sommese (Deadform, ex-Dystopia, ex-Ghoul, ex-Noothgrush) always manages to keep busy behind the kit, no matter how sloooooow things are rumbling. This not only gives the record more legs, it ensured that the band’s live shows would remain surprisingly lively.
Slice of despair number two (shut up, Beavis), “Crown of Eyes,” presents a moderately different overall atmosphere that strips away every ounce of the decayed beauty woven by the opening track in favor of underscoring a sheer and relentless suffering. As the song opens, the listener is quickly swallowed into unreasonably cheerless depths, with a curious watery flange effect on the guitar that augments a sense of drowning desperation. This song is like… Forest of Equilibrium if that album could somehow be subjected to the scene where Dumbo’s mom is imprisoned and forced into isolation for helping him ward off his tormentors. The funereal face of the band is certainly accentuated throughout “Crown of Eyes,” and if not for the sudden glimmer of drastic hope conjured by the majestic measure that kicks off around 10:30, this song would be earmarked as straight-up unconditionally pessimistic.
The album’s closing chapter (if we’re skipping the untitled CD-only 12-minute bonus track that’s largely quiet until a semblance of Godfleshian terror rises towards its close) evokes yet another face of the band that falls somewhere between the moods of the first two tracks. Mournful cello adornment returns to further gloomify the edges, but by and large this song is about pounding the listener into dust with damaging riffs. The pace is funereal at the outset, weighted with sorrow and a crushing sense of condemnation (that riff at 2:30!), and then everything suddenly goes silent at the 3:15 mark to make way for the grossest riff of the album. Seriously, this riff is so gross that flies will gather on your speakers as it clambers into your living room and gets grave dirt all over your Langley Street Fleckenstein. A decrepit fill eventually joins in the trudge, and then the rest of the crew joins the festered strut once it clumps past the 4-minute mark. This measure is impossibly heavy—the heaviest of the record—and it continues until that patent misery wafts back in and drives the closing minutes back under an impregnable shroud of gloom. Is… Is that Robert Smith’s ghoulish cousin right around 10:30?
SEEING IS BELIEVING
Hey, look, it’s a neat backpatch
Here’s the predicament: Despite the myriad of strengths associated with A Clarion Call, the chances of seeing the album in most any form out in the wild in 2024 are pretty remote. Well, beyond discovering it in pretentious record collector discerning music adventurist stashes when the stars align. Hell, you can’t even stream the GD thing on bandcamp or most of the streaming services, which is just… brain-collapsingly preposterous, given the quality of the record and odds that it’s not a complex copyright issue. Life Is Abuse released the only CD version, which is what I happen to own, but LIA HQ in Oakland has been shuttered for quite some time, and any chance of tracking down either of the Nuclear War Now! Productions LP pressings (1000 copies in 2004 / 50 copies in 2008) will end up costing someone dearly. In other words, A Clarion Call is certainly due for another full round of reissues on multiple formats, as bigly albums such as this should never be allowed to drop to zero exposure or cost a curious bystander $250 on discogs just to dip in. Furthermore, it’s sure-as-shit not ideal to rely on substandard youtube rips (see above) to try and sell folks on underrated greatness. Banqueted misery like this should be readily available for all the unwashed masses, and it would be wonderful to see a fantastic indie label such as Tankcrimes head up another limited run on CD, vinyl, cassette, and finally bandcamp.
DOOMED TO DEATH, BUT COMFORTABLY
Here’s the curious development I’m sure most all of you can relate to: 20 years of A Clarion Call’s gloomy familiarity has resulted in a notably comfortable relationship between us. Yes, it’s a bloody miserable album that casts a delightfully wretched shadow, but it’s attached to a very positive time for me, not to mention the fact that malaise of this sort has a unique way of moderating real world rotting misery—a really solid support group soundtrack, as it were, and something that explores darkness in a healthy way.
Asunder’s A Clarion Call: a raw, elemental slab of solemnity that’s equal parts diamond and decaying rust, and an album that’s always worth reclaiming.
ASUNDER CIRCA 2004:
» Dino Sommese (Deadform, ex-Dystopia, ex-Ghoul, ex-Noothgrush) – drums, vocals
» John Gossard (Dispirit, Consummation, ex-The Gault, ex-Weakling) – guitars, vocals
» Geoff Evans (ex-Skaven) – guitars
» Britt Hallett – bass, vocals
» Alex Bale-Glickman – cello
