BLACK MOUNTAIN: IV (2016)
1) Mothers Of The Sun; 2)
Florian Saucer Attack; 3) Defector; 4) You Can Dream; 5) Constellations; 6)
Line Them All Up; 7) Cemetery Breeding; 8) (Over And Over) The Chain; 9)
Crucify Me; 10) Space To Bakersfield.
A six-year period from 2010 to 2016 actually
seems shorter these days than, say, a three-month period from July to September
1969 — therefore, do not get mad at Black Mountain just because they have been
twiddling their thumbs all this time. (Technically, they did not: for instance,
Amber Webber and Joshua Wells, who'd already released two «synth-folk» or
«indietronica» albums as Lightning Dust in the 2000s, used the interval to make
a third one — but do not rush to check them out, unless you are very much in
love with Amber's wobbly voice and Joshua's antiquated electronic keyboards).
At least this gave them a chance to scrape together some moments of real
inspiration — I mean, let's face it, a musician only really should work when he
or she feels like it, and if they
only feel like it every six years or so, well, this kind of looks like a plus
in the modern world.
Anyway, no title this time, just a small,
barely visible Roman number, which might lead one to suspect they are taking
their cue from Led Zeppelin here, and indirectly claim that this album will go
down in history as containing their most immortal classics. In reality, this is
just another Black Mountain album that offers no significant deviations from
the old sound. They did have one membership change — Arjan Miranda replaces
Matthew Camirand on bass — but other than that, they're still the same
gloomy-idealistic neo-hippie band with a love for crushing Seventies' riffs,
psychedelic haze, and messages in bottles reaching your 21st century shores
from a past so distant, you'd have to spend your entire evening wondering just
exactly in what way is this kind of
sound and attitude supposed to be relevant. Then, out of sheer frustration,
you'd just have to leave it be and simply enjoy the album for what it is rather
than for what it could do to you.
The best news is that you can still rely upon
them to bring out a decent (if thoroughly derivative) riff out of
non-existence, or to put together some thick distorted guitar, some muscular
drums, and a retro-futuristic synth pattern and make it all sound cool and
credible. McBean and Webber distribute most of the lead vocals between
themselves, like they usually do, and Webber once again takes the cake — for
more than ten years now, she has sounded like a banshee apprentice that can
never make it past the first grade, but now that we've got used to that, came
to realize that she will probably stay in that mold forever, and dropped all
further expectations... well, «perennial banshee apprentice» doesn't sound too
bad, really.
She does a damn good job on the Hawkwind-ish
rocker ʽFlorian Saucer Attackʼ, actually, where her usually shaky voice makes a
huge effort to break through the thick wall of speedy metal riffage and wild
Moogs, and, for once, she almost sounds like an overhyped Amazon princess; and
the same combination of a quasi-military attitude with doom-and-gloom is heard
on ʽConstellationsʼ, where she easily outsings McBean and adds proper attitude
and feeling to the song's somewhat simplistic and silly-sounding four-note riff (which seems like a
deconstructed version of Led Zeppelin's ʽDancing Daysʼ or some other song like
that). Out of McBean's shorter numbers, ʽDefectorʼ is a good one, though,
again, it will probably draw inevitable comparisons — this time, to Pink
Floyd's ʽYoung Lustʼ, with which it shares a general «nasty» attitude and the
chorus ("and now I wanna be a defector" sort of sounds like "ooh
I need a dirty woman", doesn't it?), except that Black Mountain's music is
almost totally devoid of sexuality (not that Floyd's wasn't, either — ʽYoung
Lustʼ was a sarcastic parody).
However, the record in general rests on three
8-minute long pivots — everything else feels unsubstantial in comparison to
the «epic» numbers. ʽMothers Of The Sunʼ combines a monster Sabbath riff with
Webber's organ-accompanied doomsday prayer, and is almost surprisingly
efficient: as hard as it is for me these days to fall under the «doomsday
spell» coming from any of the new bands, Black Mountain have by now soaked
themselves so thoroughly in the spirits of their ancestors that sometimes they
seem to be possessed by these spirits, and that might just be the only proper
way to get a convincing doomsday attitude today. Compared to this, ʽ(Over And
Over) The Chainʼ is a bit of a disappointment, a track closer in spirit to the
Gothic cathedral of The Cure — but with a long long long keyboard intro that
evokes memories of ʽShine On You Crazy Diamondʼ. Yet it is neither as sublimely
textured as the Floyd epic, nor as perfectly overlaid with waves of depressed
guitars and tortured vocals as the best stuff by the Cure, and seems way
overlong. Well, in terms of build-up and bring-down it needs the length, but
they are not as good at generating atmosphere with vast soundscapes as they are
with concise riffage.
On the other hand, maybe they are when they
really put their minds to it: ʽSpace To Bakersfieldʼ is quite a haunting
conclusion, ending the album on as much of a high note as ʽMothers Of The Sunʼ
started it. This time, it's like a joint tribute to ʽSpace Oddityʼ, with its
haunting allegory of absolute loneliness, and ʽComfortably Numbʼ, with its
musical marriage of celestial bliss and psychological terror. Here, the tune
unwraps slowly and patiently, lulling you with velvety synth tapestries
(Schmidt uses ABBA's ʽEagleʼ synth tone to put you high up in the sky), soft
vocal harmonies, and minimalistic guitar effects for about five minutes, after
which McBean slowly starts to unveil his best guitar solo on the record and
maybe the best of his entire career — a choking, wobbly wah-wah wail the likes
of which I remember previously hearing mostly on those drug-soaked Bardo Pond
records. It might not be a particularly great guitar solo per se, but it feels
supercool emerging out of the «celestial» part of the song and burying it
underneath its acid fire for a couple minutes.
Overall, six years of waiting have not resulted
in a major masterpiece, but they have
resulted in Black Mountain managing to sound conservative and fresh at the same time, and that's the only thing that matters
— personally, I'm pleased as heck to award them their fourth thumbs up
in a row just for managing to stay so consistent. Not all the songs are equally
nice (a few acoustic clunkers like ʽCrucify Meʼ are neither atmospheric nor hooky
enough), and you could probably trim some fat off the 56-minute running length
quite easily, but as far as imaginative trips down memory lane are concerned, IV is among the best ones I've heard in
the last few years — not that it would do a lot of difference to anyone, since
it sort of feels like Black Mountain have pretty much squandered away their
entire fanbase in these six years. (Heck, as of July 2016, there's still no one
around to even get this record its own Wikipedia page!).
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