A Sun That Never Sets (2001)
01 - Erode
02 - The Tide
03 - From The Hill
04 - A Sun That Never Sets
05 - Falling Unknown
06 - From Where Its Roots Run
07 - Crawl Back In
08 - Watchfire
09 - Resound
10 - Stones From The Sky
link (part_1 part_2)
The title of this release carries a current of sad irony. After well over a decade of dedicated touring and recording, Oakland, CA's acclaimed sonic trailblazers seem, indeed, with this disc, heading inexorably towards twilight. Certainly, there has been an aesthetic sea change, and a qualitative one as well; whereas once Neurosis generated an epic maelstrom of sound done better than anyone, that signature was pared down a bit on the previous effort, Times of Grace. With A Sun That Never Sets, Neurosis has taken it's newfound range, and a near Mahler-esque interest in the dialectical arrangement of quiet and loud dynamics, into even more reflective, contemplative territory. The plodding guitar and noise texture tsunami that characterized every album from Souls at Zero onward has lost its steam, and if not lost steam, it has lost its potency, and, from the sound of this disc, even the band understood that. One can only hammer for so long; soon enough, the nail will be fully driven, even into the toughest steel. That said, the course of A Sun That Never Sets is determined largely by acoustic guitar and soft, folk-like singing. The standard format of electric instruments and drums have been turned down, or churned senselessly in superfluous sections tacked onto the outro's of quieter songs. Twilight, indeed. And not because Neurosis has altered its sound; experimentation and exploration is indeed a laudable, brave task, especially in the realms of noise rock and metal, where audiences can be rather unforgiving; twilight because there is a paucity of memorable material present on this Albini production, quiet, loud, or in between. (allmusic.com)
Neurosis & Jarboe (2003)
01. Within
02. His Last Words
03. Taker
04. Receive
05. Erase
06. Cringe
07. In Harm's Way
08. Seizure
Talk about an inspired pairing: Bay Area apocalyptic post-hardcore beasts Neurosis teamed up with ex-Swans vocalist/collaborator Jarboe, for this years-long, tape-trading project, and the result is, as expected, haunting, enlightening, and challenging. Jarboe's chameleonic myriad of vocal styles -- a pure, nectar-sweet tenor, operatic, dramatic, and melancholy, often gives way to whispered spoken word, and disturbing bouts of chanting, panting, and trachea-scraping screeches -- and harrowing poetry are a natural partner for Neurosis' increasingly subtle ventures into abstraction and texture (here, the band settles on a sonic cousin of its experimental ambient/noise alter ego, Tribes of Neurot). Instant gratification is something reserved for more compromising artists, and, as expected, Neurosis & Jarboe requires one's undivided attention, composed of lengthy jaunts into the mist of mind and soul, and designed to push you out of your mental comfort zone. Lyrically, Jarboe delves into the suffocating mysteries of death and religion, the album cover art tying the theme together with drawings of stigmatized hands drawing flies, each song represented by a ripped-off fly wing. The record's pinnacle is "Erase," a nine-minute epic of emotional extremity, Jarboe whispering "There are all these well-wishers, well, idiots keeping score, and I would love to disappoint them," before exploding into traumatic screams of "Define me, defy me, deny me, defile me." Neurosis' rhythmic tribal thunder during "Within" is interrupted by Jarboe's creepy, paranoid drawl before being matched by her breathless panting; and 12-minute album closer "Seizure" is an example of pure, muscular songwriting prowess, contrasting synths and noise loops with a crystalline acoustic guitar during the intro, before Jarboe's beautiful vocal strains mesh with Neurosis vocalist Scott Kelly's droning rasp; meanwhile, the backing soundtrack builds into a stunning and gorgeous polyrhythmic collage of singing, instrumental chords, and floating abstract sound. One has to admire Jarboe's unwavering ability to remain steadfast to her art, whether it requires her, as Neurosis & Jarboe often does, to strip naked and howl like a banshee, or remain tastefully restrained; either way, her collaborations with Neurosis claw at one's psyche with sharp, dirt-encrusted fingernails, their musical coalition daring you to rip away from their penetrating gaze. It won't happen. (allmusic.com)
The Eye of Every Storm (2004)
01 - Burn
02 - No River To Take Me Home
03 - The Eye of Every Storm
04 - Left to Wander
05 - Shelter
06 - A Season in the Sky
07 - Bridges
08 - I Can See You
Neurosis have toned their bruising metal image down to more of an enjoyable, atmospheric musical journey. Although still containing punishing riffs on occasion, the group is intent on creating slow and melodic pieces of work, especially on the lengthy and melancholic title track. Clocking in at close to 12 minutes, the song opens with a methodical guitar and drum beat before its tempo ebbs and flows in a vein of possible progressive rock-meets-heavy metal à la Anathema. It's sonically scene-setting as lead singer Steve VonTill gives hushed vocals in the middle portion before letting loose near its coda. Another benefit is the throng of tension from start to finish. "Burn" veers from this format as VonTill tends to wail in a nu metal format. "Shelter" contains more a folk-ish, prog-driven Pink Floyd hue with mixed results. This mood is also explored later during "A Season in the Sky" which opens like a Southern metal homage to "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails. Perhaps the highlight is "Bridges," which melds both soft and hard into a swirling crashing of styles for nearly 12 minutes. Neurosis conveys a purpose with each note, rarely seen among metal bands, whether light or brutally dark and heavy as this song evolves. However, other tunes are more urgent and almost Gothic, especially on the Wall of Sound coming from the intro on "Left to Wander." "The light has gone out today," the lyric goes as the song crawls along. VonTill and fellow guitarist Scott Kelly get into a thick slab of riffs prodding along brilliantly. Closing the record is the somber "I Can See You," another acoustic-driven song that, unfortunately, doesn't live up to previous tracks despite gaining momentum. An album whose title describes it perfectly -- calmness surrounded by gorgeous yet brooding moments. (allmusic.com)
Given to the Rising (2007)
01 - Given To The Rising
02 - Fear And Sickness
03 - To The Wind
04 - At The End Of The Road
05 - Shadow
06 - Hidden Faces
07 - Water Is Not Enough
08 - Distill (Watching The Swarm)
09 - Nine
10 - Origin
If you were unpleasantly surprised by 2001's A Sun That Never Sets and even further alienated by 2003's The Eye of Every Storm, fearing that the long-reigning, wildly influential Neurosis (can you name a post-hardcore or metal band that hasn't been influenced by them directly? -- they've done everything!) were finally sinking into the post-rock sunset, Given to the Rising should buoy your spirits considerably and bring back your swagger. Something transpired between the creepy-crawly, relatively introverted quietism of the last two recordings and this beast, recorded at Electrical Audio in Chicago with Steve Albini, who's been on board with Neurosis forever (this is the only band he works with that has a real bass presence on its records; ever notice that?). The evidence is in the opening title track, which simply explodes out of the gate with no intro, no sonic weirdness, no pretentious gradual build; it's all big-pregnant with tension riffing, electronic noise whir, and vocalist Steve Von Till punching through that punishing guitar, drum, and bass throb mix: "We stand encircled by wind and fire/Our deepest lies return and turn upon us....." Oh the glory! This cut has its dynamic moments, where it all gets deathly quiet for a moment, but you will forgive yourself for knowing what's coming -- the trademark chaotic roar, back and forth for nearly nine minutes. The leadoff is no fluke, either. Where "Fear and Sickness" may start quieter and slower, that astonishing wall of unearthly noise is firmly entrenched in the backbone of Neurosis' sound. There is an aggression here that seems to have been kept in restraint for a few years and has returned now to claim its proper place. The contrast of quiet/loud dynamics and genuinely creepy, skin-crawling ambience has its place in cuts like "At the End of the Road," a kind of reference point to records such as Through Silver in Blood and even Times of Grace, but all the slowly developing drone and sparse tribal pounding that go on seemingly interminably become something else, something so completely sinister, full of loss, pain, and rage that they are barely contained by the framework of the song itself. Von Till is growling, but he's buried under that cage until five minutes in when it all just comes rushing out at once: payback in unhinged downtuned guitar terror. The drum line is the same, only a hell of a lot louder. Just when the thing is at the breaking point it goes up not a notch, but into the damned red!
"Hidden Faces" begins in a shimmering, gloomy atmosphere reminiscent of something Jesus might have tried at the beginning with swirling banks of church organs and keyboards swelling under the tom-toms and open-chorded guitar feedback, but gets mashed underneath just a few moments later in fury. "Water Is Not Enough" continues as its brethren -- unholy loud, jumping out of the gate with a wall-of-guitar monstrance as ugly as early Killing Joke. "Distill (Watching the Swarm)" is part and parcel of Neurosis' trademark sound taken to riffing extremes. That sound -- now so common -- is so dense and punishing here that there is little or no room to breathe for the listener, and the track is over nine minutes long. Finally, "Origin," the nearly 12-minute cut that takes the album out, begins funereally, as if there is something approaching from just out of clear sight. It's a form, pronounced and dark as the black maw of hell, but textured by layers of keyboards and deep tom-tom thrumming. Von Till sings in his possessed baritone, while some voice from the edges answers him from the well of echo and sinister noise hovering just beneath the spare guitars: "All my spirits come through me when I bleed...." It travels, meandering in from edge to edge, one step at a time building its feeling of dread while keeping its tempo and sparseness until it seems it will whisper out this way. No. With about two and a half minutes to go, it screams and howls in metallic agony, taking you out on the same delightful swell of masochistic pain you came in with. This is a one hell of an album, better than anyone had any right to expect, and one of the high moments in a career filled with them. Neurosis have no need of caricatures or "more evil than thou" posturing. They are in a league of their own, and from the sounds of Given to the Rising, will remain there for some time. (allmusic.com)
