Rocker (feedbot)
Platinum Member
Winter is the worst time of year. Christmas falls at its halfway point, a celebration of its ending, almost as though we’re saying “Thank god, the light is returning.” Things are different in Finland. Toward the arctic circle, the sun is shrouded by the horizon. For fifty days a year, the country is lost in the deep, unending darkness of winter. The sun never rises. This is the place Atlas call home. ‘Sunder’ is their third album, one bathed in this atmosphere. It captures the dark, the torment of existing within it and explores how a massive guitar riff might just save you.
Using the opening track ‘Sermon Of The Dying Light’, they quickly establish the tone of what will follow; layering on that atmosphere bringing to mind the setting sun, the creeping sense of dread, the night stretching over the landscape. It’s a short but effective way of drawing you in. Then the riffs are unleashed. Like its name suggests, ‘Tower’ is a massive, imposing achievement. Perhaps the album’s most straightforward song, it is built around a huge groove and a stuttering, almost djent guitar. It has a strong sense of momentum and sets the tone using vocals that are a roar and cockroach hiss. This neatly establishes the band’s songwriting credentials before collapsing completely into a rumbling rush of double bass pedal and eerie moans. It is, in a word, great. ‘Salt and Sulphur’ shares its style and clear vision, but uses a pagan-style chanting and is the first time we hear gasps of beautiful singing. This is also where the album shows its hand; it’s both carefully layered and emotionally complex.
As a five-piece metal band with no designated synth or player, it is implied that the album’s tone and indeed its personality, are shaped by Buster Odeholm’s mixing and mastering; aware of its contrasts and striking a careful balance. It’s structured but never clean-cut, with vocals often relegated to being a strange, distant screech, almost like the void calling out, but it’s never glossy nor off-putting. The way the sounds weave together is dark and delicious, like a black forest gateaux; thick and rich, yet sinfully gluttonous.
The obvious comparison here is Orbit Culture and their recent album ‘Death Above Life’, not just because the bands are on tour together either. The sound is dark, heavy, propulsive and they share the same massive, eardrum bursting guitar chords and thumping rhythm parts. Although Atlas’ work shares the same sense of darkness it is more ruminant, more thoughtful, deeper. So, of course, they then start to do something different.
With three albums under their belt, they have the experience – and the established discography – to leave the straightforward behind. The deep and darkly beautiful ‘I Whisper Your Name Like A Curse’ is a masterpiece of haunting melancholy. It stings like snow blown across the wilderness, the cold and bitterness of the darkest nights. The aptly named ‘Coven Of Two’ combines a similar sound with a heavier, metallic structure and in doing so produces the album’s striking lead single. Impressive on its own, in context it becomes bridge between two emotions, it’s the point where the band’s muscles starts to flex.
At the halfway mark ‘Altar Of Your Love’ splinters the sound. The slow, thumping drums give it space to expand and shift the tone, creating a clear, thoughtful split. It’s like it physically moves the record from rolling despair to anxiety based distress. On the record’s first half the darkness is oppressive but it’s never smothering, ‘Tower’ and ‘Salt And Sulphur’ feel like big groove-based metal songs while on the second it’s more expansive and emotional, the trick is that it’s always compelling. It’s never insufferable, it’s never repellent, but equally it avoids a slight, mainstream sound. There’s a careful balance that is reinforced by the album’s short, focused runtime. Curiously, there is a shift, just a small space, where another track might have slotted, but what makes it so interesting is that it’s one you subconsciously fill with hope.
In Finland, national service is mandatory. All men are required to complete a year in the army. The meaning of this has changed since the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Less a formality, duty or an adventure, it comes with a sense of foreboding. The genuine sense that your life might be at stake in a game you cannot control. ‘Sunder’ has this in the back of its mind, it is no surprise the record embraces a sense of emotional turmoil, particularly in its second half. ‘Anodyne’, with the addition of female vocals and pick scratches, all wrapped in the shrouds found in the record’s first half, perfectly captures the sound of distress and makes it the record’s most striking and defining song.
The production is powerful and there is a slick sense of self; this is an accessible, artistic metal record, filled with strong songs. ‘Sunder’ is a portrait of distress and despair painted with the sadness of winter.
IAN KENWORTHY
Using the opening track ‘Sermon Of The Dying Light’, they quickly establish the tone of what will follow; layering on that atmosphere bringing to mind the setting sun, the creeping sense of dread, the night stretching over the landscape. It’s a short but effective way of drawing you in. Then the riffs are unleashed. Like its name suggests, ‘Tower’ is a massive, imposing achievement. Perhaps the album’s most straightforward song, it is built around a huge groove and a stuttering, almost djent guitar. It has a strong sense of momentum and sets the tone using vocals that are a roar and cockroach hiss. This neatly establishes the band’s songwriting credentials before collapsing completely into a rumbling rush of double bass pedal and eerie moans. It is, in a word, great. ‘Salt and Sulphur’ shares its style and clear vision, but uses a pagan-style chanting and is the first time we hear gasps of beautiful singing. This is also where the album shows its hand; it’s both carefully layered and emotionally complex.
As a five-piece metal band with no designated synth or player, it is implied that the album’s tone and indeed its personality, are shaped by Buster Odeholm’s mixing and mastering; aware of its contrasts and striking a careful balance. It’s structured but never clean-cut, with vocals often relegated to being a strange, distant screech, almost like the void calling out, but it’s never glossy nor off-putting. The way the sounds weave together is dark and delicious, like a black forest gateaux; thick and rich, yet sinfully gluttonous.
The obvious comparison here is Orbit Culture and their recent album ‘Death Above Life’, not just because the bands are on tour together either. The sound is dark, heavy, propulsive and they share the same massive, eardrum bursting guitar chords and thumping rhythm parts. Although Atlas’ work shares the same sense of darkness it is more ruminant, more thoughtful, deeper. So, of course, they then start to do something different.
With three albums under their belt, they have the experience – and the established discography – to leave the straightforward behind. The deep and darkly beautiful ‘I Whisper Your Name Like A Curse’ is a masterpiece of haunting melancholy. It stings like snow blown across the wilderness, the cold and bitterness of the darkest nights. The aptly named ‘Coven Of Two’ combines a similar sound with a heavier, metallic structure and in doing so produces the album’s striking lead single. Impressive on its own, in context it becomes bridge between two emotions, it’s the point where the band’s muscles starts to flex.
At the halfway mark ‘Altar Of Your Love’ splinters the sound. The slow, thumping drums give it space to expand and shift the tone, creating a clear, thoughtful split. It’s like it physically moves the record from rolling despair to anxiety based distress. On the record’s first half the darkness is oppressive but it’s never smothering, ‘Tower’ and ‘Salt And Sulphur’ feel like big groove-based metal songs while on the second it’s more expansive and emotional, the trick is that it’s always compelling. It’s never insufferable, it’s never repellent, but equally it avoids a slight, mainstream sound. There’s a careful balance that is reinforced by the album’s short, focused runtime. Curiously, there is a shift, just a small space, where another track might have slotted, but what makes it so interesting is that it’s one you subconsciously fill with hope.
In Finland, national service is mandatory. All men are required to complete a year in the army. The meaning of this has changed since the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Less a formality, duty or an adventure, it comes with a sense of foreboding. The genuine sense that your life might be at stake in a game you cannot control. ‘Sunder’ has this in the back of its mind, it is no surprise the record embraces a sense of emotional turmoil, particularly in its second half. ‘Anodyne’, with the addition of female vocals and pick scratches, all wrapped in the shrouds found in the record’s first half, perfectly captures the sound of distress and makes it the record’s most striking and defining song.
The production is powerful and there is a slick sense of self; this is an accessible, artistic metal record, filled with strong songs. ‘Sunder’ is a portrait of distress and despair painted with the sadness of winter.
IAN KENWORTHY