The Body have been a leading force of innovation in heavy music for over two decades. The prolific duo of guitarist/vocalist Chip King and Lee Buford (on percussion/electronics) have consistently expanded the scope of what heavy music can be. The Body has produced a wealth of groundbreaking collaborations and benchmark albums that over the past 2 decades have changed the perceptions and directions of heavy music. Known for the monolithic force of their music, and their inventive production techniques, their albums are benchmarks in the expansion and evolution of heavy music. Tightly packed with deceptively nuanced arrangements, exhilarating and challenging distortion, their albums are possessed of an unmistakably singular sound. The Crying Out of Things is no exception, a culmination of all that The Body have done before, highlighting their mastery of dynamic, monumental music that pushes toward the unmistakable sound of oblivion.
From the band’s origins, incorporating unorthodox methods to achieve an oppressive atmosphere has been essential to their alchemy. Full choirs, unexpected sound samples, 70s-inspired horn lines, dub drum beats and diverse guest performances have speckled their varied and eclectic repertoire, the common thread being a complex webs of distortion and noise. The Crying Out of Things harnesses elements from their ground breaking catalog: the expansive ecstatic distortion and live energy of I’ve Seen All I Need To See, the ambitious layering and arrangements on I Have Fought Against It, But I Can’t Any Longer, and the corroded pop edge of No One Deserves Happiness into one compact work. Guest performances include vocalist Ben Eberle, horn player Dan Blacksburg, and recent collaborator Felicia Chen add essential textural range. The Crying Out Of Things makes clear The Body’s distinct power to convey a dark range of emotions, thought inventive arrangements, dynamics, and sound selections.
The album’s embrace of noise is a comprehensive edisplay of the multitude of expressions possible with abrasive sound, a skill that The Body have pioneered and refined. “I think for us the key to the way we use noise is, it’s not the only element,” says Buford. “You’ve gotta really listen if you’re into noise. But it also has to have dynamics. Where, say, BIG|BRAVE (who have a similar ethos) expresses it in this more intellectual, minimalist way, The Body comes from an instinctual, maximalist way. We’re trying to cover it ALL.” There’s a delicate equilibrium to the compositions and momentum to each song on The Crying Out of Things. 808 kick drums and dissonant horns add clarity and punch to the chaos on “Last Things,” a reimagined version of a song from their A Home on Earth EP. “Removal” does slow-motion twirls of dubby drums and echoing samples before being subsumed in a droning throng. “A Premonition” and “The Building” act as bracing odes to the duo’s love of hip hop and R&B with undeniable grooves where “Less Meaning” stands as one of the band’s most aesthetically punk songs, an uptempo wreckingball emboldened by glitches and tambourine. The focus of distortion shifts across instruments and sections with subtle precision, embellishing hulking drums one moment and the shriek of King’s voice the next. By weaving subtleties into the fabric of each piece, The Body creates starker contrasts and more extreme swings of emotional weight from one instant to the next.
The Body stand alone in their ability to connect disparate influences and collaborators into a wholly original, potent and singular work. Alongside producer/engineer Seth Manchester, the duo’s voracious and omnivorous musical appetites have pushed the studio as an instrument into new avenues to conjure profound feelings from the music. The Crying Out of Things cements The Body’s place as a leader of heavy new music, their boundless creativity, their defining ability to convey anguish, created with a visceral clarity to devastating impact.
The work of BIG|BRAVE is ever-expanding. The breadth of their sound has encompassed a breathtaking array of dynamics and sonics. Their sound, guided by their indomitable exploratory spirit, exploits contrasts between extremity and subtlety. The trio’s singular, masterful sculpting of sonics into songcraft tucks layers of vulnerability into formidable storms. in grief or in hope is an innovative vision of electro-acoustic sound and emotive storytelling, an endless bounty of overwhelming distortions and devastating beauty.
in grief or in hope marks a shift for BIG|BRAVE towards denser, guitar-oriented compositions. With longtime touring bassist Liam Andrews (MY DISCO, Aicher) joining guitarist/vocalist Robin Wattie and guitarist Mathieu Ball in the studio for the first time, the pieces are keenly layered with a rich tapestry of harmonics and tonal intricacies. Each piece is its own biome of distortions starkly contrasted with delicate, even tender, moments. The trio’s instinctual progressions are made more vivid through live recording, harnessing the gargantuan and storied sound of their performances. Within texturally maximalist loops and affected vocals, the pieces utilize the aesthetics of drone, electronic, and heavy music within a foundation of pop song form. Wattie writes: “I wanted to explore catchy, melodic phrasing weaved throughout the intensity of the instrumentation and drony chord changes. All that I could reflect on was grief and hope; death and life; cause and effect; shared experiences of being a human person.”
The tenth album for the ensemble, in grief or in hope pays homage to their past while looking into their future. Standout “the ineptitude for mutual discernment” expands on lyrical themes first explored on 2015’s Au De La where “verdure” echoes melodies from the title track of 2014’s Feral Verdure. These references to their past serve as potent reflection points on BIG|BRAVE’s evolution as artists. A sonic whirlpool of string instruments surrounds Wattie’s commanding vocals as she shifts from spectral undulations on pieces like “what may be the kindest way to leave” to the direct, spare declarations of the title track. The ambiguity of mountainous chords on “an uttering of antipathy” are coupled with autotuned phrases emphasizing isolation inside the fray.
Together the trio deliver emotional momentum that vividly describes the complex and deep feelings of struggle, pain, and transcendence. in grief or in hope transmits that sense of humanity with every gesture.
“Beacons in Limbo” is the newest full length from Philly tension rockers Carnivorous Bells and the combustible menace found on their previous releases has fully blossomed into a heaving beast of teeth gnashing intensity. To adequately describe their unique approach to aggressive music is no easy thing but it helps to think of bands that came from the world of hardcore but were never totally of it, misfits who used the raw ferocity of hardcore to explore more adventurous territories, whether it be Saccharine Trust’s dissonant jazz leanings, Spike in Vain’s bleary chords/bleary rantings, October File-era Die Kreuzen’s adoption of melody while still retaining the scathing vocals. or Your Food’s high energy, spatially deep post punk. And hey, Carnivorous Bells shares some common DNA with all of them! But I think the most striking aspect of their sound is that no matter what path they take it is always with a tightly coiled sense of grim control.
The titular opening track pairs David Vassalotti’s snake charmer single guitar notes with the omnidirectional rhythms of Leo Suarez before exploding into loud crashing chords. Elsewhere the beginning of “The Preserved” finds vocalist Matthew Adis muttering over Jared Radichel’s Prime Time-esque art/jazz/funk bass. “Drop the Reins” features elements of actual beauty (gentle swells of guitar, twinkling piano) as well as relentless cacophony. Or closer “The Puppeteer’s Dilemma”, which starts with dizzying percussion, fevered vocals, and more piano before growing in power and finally ending with a thuggish lurch that brings to mind both Birthday Party and Jesus Lizard.
Over these nine tracks Carnivorous Bells strike an anxiety-inducing tightrope walk between the creepy crawl and the lashing out. Neither will make you feel any less uneasy.