As
I am prone to telling almost anyone who will listen, Norma Jean has long been
one of my favorite bands, and since its announcement about a year ago, I had
been jittery with excitement in awaiting their latest release, Polar Similar. Despite this act’s fluid
nature as a musical collective, my faith in their ability to deliver music
that is both groundbreaking and yet true to the legacy has been unwavering. And
though there are no longer any founding members present in the band,
this fresh lineup succeeds in honoring the tradition that is Norma Jean while
producing what may be the best record yet released under the moniker.
Norma
Jean has perpetually been a heavy band, and Polar
Similar delivers fully on that promise. Guitarists Jeff Hickey and Philip
“Philly” Farris pull heady, ground-shaking chugs from their instruments,
playing predominantly in tunings as low as Drop-A or Drop-G. Bassist John
Finnegan thunders out angry bass notes that reverberate through the chest,
while Clayton “Goose” Holyoak bludgeons his drums towards a violent end. The
band is loud and brutally heavy, pulling as much metal from their instruments
as possible, smashing melody against mania without compromise.
Norma
Jean has loaded Polar Similar with
the same raging heaviness we expect from the band, yet never before has the
music been approached with such fearlessness. As lead singer Cory Brandan
states, the intention behind the record was “to do things [our] own way, and not care if anyone gives a shit about it,” and indeed there is no lack of
innovation on the record. Norma Jean explores completely new territories in
some pieces, using sampled recordings in “II. The People” and “A Thousand Years a Minute,” featuring a spoken-word piece in “Synthetic Sun,” and mixing in a
gentle grand piano coda for “1,000,000 Watts.” This experimentation even extends
through recording techniques, as apparently the band recorded guitar parts over an indoor pool at the studio as well as through the walls of the house they stayed in.
This
willingness to delve into new, unexplored areas is truly the drive behind Polar Similar, and one of the
most notable undertakings is Cory Brandan’s increasingly melodic singing.
Although the man can scream and growl like a rabid and furious jaguar, songs
like “Reaction” and the band’s tribute to the late great Lemmy,
“Everyone Talking Over Everyone Else,” show Cory concentrating his vocals in a
beautiful yet still edgy singing voice. This choice allows for him to play with
the emotion of the song, to let his anger seethe rather than shout. This also
creates a new dynamic in the music, so that when Brandan does scream, it shakes
the listener all the more by contrasting with the quiet that came before it.
Further
nuance and innovation are present in the lyrics, both in theme and in
presentation. Apparently Polar Similar
involves a loose concept, reflected by the numbering of four of the tracks that
break up the movement of the record. And while that concept seems rather vague
and broad, that massive scope is apparently the point; as Cory puts it, the
thematic pieces arose from a desire for “Polar Similar to really tell a story and be disconnected from us as people.”
The four titles seem to zoom in on one another; “I. The Planet” being a superficial
lump of us all; “II. The People” representing the individuals; and “III. The Nebula” an ode to the undefined, amorphous boundaries that separate us.
Thus, the final and explosive track, “IV. The Nexus,” references the connecting
thread that ties us all together, the uniting sameness at the heart of all of
us that shatters those boundaries.
The
creation of Polar Similar is a form of catharsis for the band, and for me, no tune defines this feeling better
than “Death is a Living Partner.” Amid some of the most intense, unrelenting
instrumentation of the record, Cory dissects at full volume his passage from
youth into adulthood. His wail of “The invincibility of our youth has just given way…to the inevitability of our death” starts with rage, yet settles
into a full, heavy understanding of his own mortality, before naming death as
his “living partner / a consummate, consummate one.” This pounding,
furious coda is the audial equivalent of gazing into the void, a gaze that
results in either peace or annihilation, that sucks me in every single time.
Undoubtedly,
Polar Similar is an album of
evolution, of maturation, and of experimentation. Norma Jean has poured every
piece of their hearts into this record, filling it front to back with unbridled
emotion and power. Whether exploring new frontiers or treading carefully across
old wounds, this band strides forward without fear or hesitation, turning that
journey into the brutal truth that lies at the heart of every song. Polar Similar is a record full of
surprises, but it leaves me without a trace of doubt that this band’s
trajectory leads only upwards.
Few acts are as synonymous with the idea of
insanity as The Dillinger Escape Plan. I remember hearing a story in high
school from an acquaintance that had just seen them live, claiming that lead singer
Greg Puciato had literally run across the room on the heads of the crowd, and
as more and more of my friends became fans of them, further wild accounts of
this band’s prowess and madness made it into my ears. Despite being a big fan
of other technical acts such as Norma Jean and Between the Buried & Me, I
had never found my way into any of Dillinger’s music, until my friend and
drummer for Hiss the Villain (who all but worships Bill Rymer) insisted I check
out their newest release, One of Us Is the Killer, which quickly proved
to me just how insane this act can be.
Despite being credited with creating the genre
of mathcore,[1] a
style over which they certainly hold mastery, The Dillinger Escape Plan is far
more diverse in their sound than that label suggests. While writing One of
Us is the Killer, the band's intention was to "consciously...push
ourselves into uncomfortable territory rhythmically,"[2]
and with that in mind, they manage to intermingle jazz and salsa rhythms with
the speed picking and chugs that define the mathcore feel, giving a refreshing
take on a sound that has already been beaten to death. Drummer Bill Rymer
easily earns his accolades, loading syncopated hits and polyrhythms into every
song, creating both percussive pipebombs and tiny ear-catching firecrackers.
Similarly, guitarist and primary composer Ben Weinman moves so quickly up and
down his neck that his hands must be bleeding. He layers intricate lines and
full chords to fill out the treble zone, while Liam Wilson dominates the
low-end with his roaring bass, absolutely ripping up the intro to
"Crossburner" with his distorted tones. And if the heaviness isn’t
enough, The Dillinger Escape Plan even has the audacity to add a horn section
and soundscapes to their varied metal, further diversifying their brand of
chaos.
By far, Dillinger’s sound on this record is
loaded with intensity and technicality, but as is too often the norm, the
extreme competence of the musicians sometimes causes the music to stray into
the territory of noise. Although a lot of their polyrhythms are aesthetically
pleasing, portions of songs like “Hero of the Soviet Union” and “When I Lost MyBet” are so rapid-fire and syncopated that the CD might as well be skipping.
Similarly, the riff that makes up the entirety of “CH 375 268 277 ARS” is
interesting, but so repetitive and unresolved in any way that it alienates the
listener more than it draws him in. Although I respect every risk that The
Dillinger Escape Plan takes on One of Us is the Killer (even the abuse
of odd accent cymbals as well as a xylophone), I’d be lying if I said there
aren’t a few moments where I am totally lost by their thought-driven
composition.
Despite some of the more soulless sections of
song, The Dillinger Escape Plan gets it right way more often than wrong, and
the best example of these four completely dominating is in the title track,
“One of Us is the Killer.” Sliding into existence with an almost-inaudible
arrangement, Puciato sings in a high falsetto, winding his melody between
Rymer's whispering cymbals until the chorus goes off like a nailbomb. Although
Dillinger adds their standard flair with polyrhythmic hits in the chorus and an
atonal 21/8(!!!) bridge, the overall structure of the song is simple and
palatable, causing their insanely technical choices accent the tune rather than
drive it. Furthermore, they create an emotional space that allows Puciato to
simply go off, his vocals running the gamut of sound from gentle high notes to
throaty screams and beyond as he contemplates the binary nature of unhealthy
relationships.[3]
With "One of Us is the Killer," The Dillinger Escape Plan finds the
perfect balance in loud/soft dynamics and simple/complex riffing, using
moderation in all senses to produce an excellent and intricate tune.
From the opening salvo of the album, it is quite
obvious just how good the musicians in The Dillinger Escape Plan are, but in my
opinion, no member is more interesting in his contributions than Greg Puciato.
There is a sheer, honest intensity that bleeds from his voice in every take, a
true connection between emotion and diction. His vocal performances stem from
true outbursts of feeling, which are sometimes so strong or violent that the
very microphone he is recording with gets mangled in the process.[4]
This experience of truly exploding during vocal takes is one that Puciato
describes as "fucking therapeutic,"[5]
as it allows him to come to terms with the subject matter of his songs. In an
interview with Chad Bowar, Puciato remarks that "if you're in the studio
screaming about something, you should relate to it,"[6]
and indeed, Greg embodies the visceral reactions inherent in his emotions,
channeling them through his voice to make the vocals on One of Us is the
Killer so real, he might as well be screaming in your backseat.
As with the sound of his vocals, Greg Puciato's
process for writing the lyrics those sounds will encapsulate is just as driven
and inspired. Unlike most vocalists, Puciato waits until right before recording
to pen the lyrics, sketching "blurts" and "blobs" until he
realizes the direction the song must take. As he puts it, "the reason you
create art is to get something out of you or learn something about yourself
that helps you move past something or grow in some way," and by writing
the lyrics to the entire record in a short amount of time, he is able to
maintain a "consistency and honesty" in capturing a certain moment of
his life.[7]
Of course, this hyperfocus placed on creation of
the lyrics over a short time span leaves little room for intricacy to enter the
writing. While some of Greg's ideas slip into poetics, such as the lines
"Drag the knife across the skin / tempted to succumb / carving fervor into
flesh / holy we've become" in "Understanding Decay,"[8]
the rush in which most of the writing happens leaves clichés littered
throughout and much of the rest as blatant statements. Indeed, the words to the
chorus of "Nothing's Funny" are so simple they come off as absolute
drivel: "Eventually the jokes aren't free and nothing's ever fun and
nothing's funny."[9]
However, knowing that Greg's writing process is focused on capturing the true
emotion in the words and presenting it brutally and uncut, the relative
unimagination of the lyrics is completely forgivable. Furthermore, as hackneyed
as the phrase "you are the scum of the earth" may be, I simply cannot
tire of hearing Greg rip those words from the bottom of his lungs.[10]
As Ben Weinman aptly puts it, "There is no
specific Dillinger way - there's no right or wrong way of doing things. [We]
just make it work."[11]
On One of Us is the Killer, The Dillinger Escape Plan pushes the
envelope in countless ways, but more importantly, pushes themselves into spaces
they've never explored themselves. Regardless of any shortcomings, this band
worked their asses off in making One of Us is the Killer into a unique
experience, which alone is something amazing to see and even more amazing to
hear. After spinning this record until it started skipping and then some, I can
truly say that I've never heard anything like The Dillinger Escape Plan, but
I'm very grateful that I did. It is a record fuming with anger and energy and
enthusiasm, extremely intricate, extremely diversified, and yet extremely
listenable, and I have no doubt I will be returning for more.
Until
I entered my junior year of high school, my chances of accessing new forms of
music were remarkably slim. Unless one of my friends brought home a new CD or I
was sneaky enough to watch VH1 in the early mornings when my parents weren’t
around, it was quite unlikely that I would hear anything outside of a
radio-friendly format. But when I was fourteen, the gods of music took pity on
me, and my family received a free promotional DVD in the mail loaded with
alternative music. Amongst a pile other alternative and indie tunes, this disc
included the video for “Reinventing Your Exit” by Underoath, my first ever
exposure to screamed vocals.
Though
I didn’t quite get the style of music at the time, the catchy yet abrasive
chorus held fast to my memory until I couldn’t get it out of my head. My love
for that song has remained since, but until very recently, I had somehow failed
to get my hands on any of Underoath’s full records or further explore their
catalogue. Yet after seeing their long history as labelmates with Norma Jean
(not to mention Timothy McTague’s writing credit on Redeemer), I finally picked up a copy of They’re Only Chasing Safety to determine whether Underoath was as
intense and interesting as my first impression had left me believing.
As
I would soon come to find, They’re Only Chasing
Safety is hardly representative of this band’s overall sound, largely
because of its foray into the territories of pop-punk and alternative rock. But
regardless of genre labels, Underoath throws a lot of power into the ten songs
on this record. The energetic and noisy riffing of guitarists Timothy McTague
and James Smith drives every song into a ferocious whirlpool that is controlled
only by the expert drumming of Aaron Gillespie. Lead vocalist Spencer
Chamberlain, who makes his Underoath debut on this album, definitively marks
his territory with throaty, desperate screams, a terrifying counterpoint to
Gillespie’s soaring vocals. Although much of their sound is focused through a
lighter lens, a product of what Spencer sheepishly labels “what we were into at
that time,”[1] there
is no shortage of the gritty, dissonant tone that previously defined Underoath
either—Aaron rides the double-bass in “The Impact of Reason,” while both “I
Don’t Feel Very Receptive Today” and “It’s Dangerous Business Walking Out Your Front Door” are built around darkly-colored chord progressions and palm mutes.
There
is no shortage to vivacious performance on this record, but where Underoath
really shines is in their songwriting. They’re
Only Chasing Safety is spilling over with cool decisions and technical
prowess, all of which is perfectly blended under catchy hooks and infectious
grooves. “Down, Set, Go” features seamless transitions between 6/4 and 4/4
time, while in “The Impact of Reason,” the band alternates between 6/4, 4/4,
and even 7/4 without blinking. Many of the songs also feature intricately
crafted structures that opt against the standard verse-chorus-verse feel for a
more fluid shape. Songs like “It’s Dangerous Business Walking out Your Front
Door” and “A Boy Brushed Red…Living in Black and White” alternate between
multiple hooks without settling on one, while “Young and Aspiring” and “I Don’t
Feel Very Receptive Today” avoid a repeated chorus completely. And when the
hook seems too good to ignore, like in “I’m Content with Losing,” Underoath
makes sure you’ll be singing it for weeks.
From
the opening noise of “Young and Aspiring” to the fading harmonics of “Some WillSeek Forgiveness, Others Escape,” it’s very clear that Underoath has invested
more than just time into making They’re
Only Chasing Safety sound incredible. Their bolder choices, such as
slipping electronic beats and samples in against heavy guitar riffing, mark
them as an audacious bunch and give the record some real character; however,
these also make those compromising or weak decisions painfully apparent. The
mix of the record pushes the guitars to the very front of the mix, leaving
Grant Brandell’s bass all but drowned in the treble, and unless the keys are
taking the lead, Christopher Dudley receives much the same treatment.
In
comparison to the awesome arrangements, much of the lyrical content feels
largely like an afterthought. Although good ideas from a writer’s standpoint do
appear, such as using similar images across multiple songs, the execution
leaves the overall expressions feeling contrived. Many songs feature imagery of
suicidal thoughts or actions, but lines like “I feel like cutting it open
tonight…and falling on the floor” from “I Don’t Feel Very Receptive Today” are
so blatant that any cry for help is lost in a whine.[2]
Similarly, the massive range of emotion locked in the idea of a break-up is
hardly even approached in the chorus line of “It’s Dangerous Business Walking
Out Your Front Door:” “My knuckles have turned to white / There’s no turning
back tonight / Kiss me one last time.”[3]
And when a meaningful image or idea does somehow find its way to completion,
like the line “Feeling free is our modern disease / You’re a classic disaster”
from the album’s opening track,[4]
it is quickly surrounded by pithy or faulty writing which prevents any
interesting idea from fully taking root.
Lyrically,
They’re Only Chasing Safety misses
much more than it hits, but the emphatic, intermixing vocals of Spencer and
Aaron give even their frail writing a ton of vitality. The nature of
Underoath’s vocal performance relies on the fact that they “[put] so many
vocals in the songs that there’s no way for one person to have the breath to do
it.”[5]
This juxtaposition of vocals sung and screamed is what initially pulled me in,
and no tune provides a better example than “Reinventing Your Exit.” Aaron’s
emotive verse melodies wind the song’s energy up, giving Spencer a pent-up ball
of fervor to detonate as he hits the chorus. Despite being Dallas Taylor’s
final writing credit with the band, Spencer unequivocally conquers the song
with his violent shout of “You’ve got me up against a wall.”[6]
The way both vocalists intertwine their parts to the point of sharing sentences
is already extraordinary, yet somehow they find room to intermingle with the
countermelodies and flourishes of Chris Dudley’s keys, weaving “Reinventing
Your Exit” into a treble tapestry that leaves me in awe after each listen.
Ups
and downs aside, to me, it is very evident that They’re Only Chasing Safety is an honest creation of a band still
reeling from lineup changes and new directions. As Tim McTague puts it, the
goal has always been to “do things right [and] do things honestly;”[7]
for this record, the decisions that work do so exceptionally, because they are
rooted in the pure intentions of a band trying to do what they love. In an
interview with EuroPunk, Spencer
remarks of the simplicity of their writing process: “We lock ourselves in a
room and [Underoath is] what happens,”[8]
and for all the pressures against Underoath at the time, the things that happen
on They’re Only Chasing Safety are
pretty damn impressive. Though I am not intellectually stunned, the sheer
energy and catchiness of these ten tunes have already hooked me, and get me
beyond excited to dive headfirst into the rest of their catalogue.
Disclaimer: The
following piece is a super-in-depth look at one of my favorite records, and as
such, it is riddled with personal opinions and praise for said record. This
cannot be helped.
As I’ve
said myriad times before, I was hardly a fan of metal in high school. Punk and
ska dominated my clunky iPod’s memory, and what little crevices were left I
filled with the 90’s alternative I had only just begun to explore. It took me
years to find a true handhold in hardcore music, and most acts in that genre
were hard-pressed to get my attention before my later college years.
Except for
one.
To my
great fortune, engraved on that pivotal CD mix I received during my senior year
was “The End of All Things Will Be Televised” by Norma Jean, and from the very
first second, I completely understood
the song. The heavy slamming guitars soaked in overdrive, the tumbling time
signature changes, the gross amounts of dissonant noise—there was not an
element that failed to command my attention. Within the first ten seconds I had
cranked the volume on my stereo to near-deaf levels, not wanting to miss a
single nuance in the violently heavy bass line or the desperate screaming
vocals.
My
infatuation with this one tune led me to investigate the band, and within a few
weeks I had procured a used copy of that song’s parent album, Redeemer. Tossing the disc in my CD
player like a jonesing drug addict, I smashed the “play” button, and began a
love affair with Norma Jean that continues to thrive as I write this piece.
Years later, I have journeyed across this band’s entire catalog, but no other
NJ record has come close to surpassing my intense captivation with Redeemer.
The sound
of Redeemer is laden with dichotomy
and paradox at its very core, which is perhaps part of the reason why it
completely overwhelmed me. Norma Jean is heavy, and Redeemer is a hardcore record, yet the production and equalization
of that heaviness makes the album extremely accessible. The composition is
rooted in time signature changes, dissonant chords, and drop tunings, but the
arrangement of the songs with these tools feels wholly natural to the ear and
the spirit. Furthermore, despite the relatively high production value on the
record, every note feels as raw as a fresh wound and as meaningful as the first
time a heart is broken—according to bassist Jake Schultz, the band members were
encouraged to ignore mistakes and just “play it as hard as you can,”[1] so that no decibel of
energy was lost. Every second of Redeemer
is played with feeling and utter honesty, and that alone means everything.
There are
quite probably a million reasons why I love this record as a whole, but to
truly process my passion, I feel each track must be set aside to shine in its
own right. Every song is loaded with nuance and clever decision that should not
be ignored, as each is imperative to understanding the truth threaded
throughout Redeemer’s entire
being.
1.A Grand Scene for a Color Film
Kicking
off the record with a haphazard intro full of feedback and shouting, “A Grand
Scene for a Color Film” presents at full force the very essence of Norma Jean. Putman
demands “Sit down!” while Dan Davidson smashes his toms and the strings crash
against each other like hurricane waves. The tune alternates between 4/4 and
6/4 before descending into a pounding breakdown in 9/4, yet every change is so
smooth it is almost imperceptible. Putman’s exclamation of “the great universal
coma has arrived,” while curdling the blood, also introduces us to the
metaphysical thinking that is a primary theme on Redeemer.[2] “A Grand Scene for a Color
Film” quickly familiarizes the listener to the unrelenting energy and insanity
of this band, kicking off the festivities with what Sputnik Music calls “train
wreck inspired sound-offs [that set] the tone for the rest of the record.”[3]
2.Blueprints for Future Homes
The first
pseudo-single released on the album,[4] “Blueprints for Future
Homes” hardly lets the former track end before erupting outward at us. Driven
by a punchy guitar riff alternating between 7/8 and 4/4, Norma Jean creates a
musical catastrophe saturated with distortion, against which Putman laments the
loss of “a drowning generation.” Despite the grueling guitar chords, much of
the heaviness in this tune stems from Jake Schultz, whose overdriven bass
snarls like a rabid animal about to pounce.
“Blueprints
for Future Homes” is laden with awesome moments, but no part is more brilliant
than Putman’s lyrics. He sings and screams with a voice of terror and mourning,
his images of dishonesty and confusion coalescing into a photo of a suffering
world. Despite his visions of a reality where “hell is empty” and “the devils
are here,” Putman decides to act rather than mourn, vowing that he “will never
sleep” as long as his fellow man continues to drown.[5] Putman’s will to aid his
fellow man is heavy and meaningful, and the vicious performance of Norma Jean
across this song adds even more weight to this interesting and profound
idea.
3.A Small Spark vs. a Great Forest
Though
many of Norma Jean’s tunes alternate between whispers and shouts, no song on Redeemer utilizes dynamics quite as
effectively as “A Small Spark vs. a Great Forest.” Dan Davidson’s tumbling rim
shots and Jake Schultz’ rumbling lows quietly introduce the tune before the
band explodes into a tumultuous blaze. Throughout the entire song, the band
toys with dynamics, keeping the vocals loud while the instrumentation backs
off, before shoving the entire mess into the listener’s mind again. Between the
slow build of intensity and the flaring lyrics that encompass the imagery of a
sylvan landscape, “A Small Spark vs. a Great Forest” indeed takes on the sound
of a raging inferno intent on consuming all in its path.
4.A Temperamental Widower
Loaded
with energy, “A Temperamental Widower” teases us with a tame intro, but as soon
as Davidson finishes the four-count, Norma Jean bursts outward like a runaway
locomotive. The frenzied guitar riffs of Scottie Henry and Chris “Derr” Day
ring reminiscent of 80’s hardcore punk, yet their signature noisy melody style still
dominates the changes. The fast tempo and crashing drum beat provide a pulse so
frantic that even when the band arrives at the heaving breakdown and Putman
begins his chant of “You’ll put me in the grave,” not an iota of energy is
compromised.[6]
Angry and volatile, “A Temperamental Widower” takes the simplicity and speed of
punk and crams it against Norma Jean’s noisy hardcore, creating a tune that
tears headlong into our ears, screaming with abandon.
5.The End of All Things Will Be
Televised
My
initiation into the music of Norma Jean, “The End of All Things Will Be
Televised” begins with a breath, followed by crashing chugs so heavy, they
could be the footfalls of the Four Horsemen. This tune roils and rolls about
without mercy, shuffling between 4/4 and 6/4 before diving into a coda in 13/4.
Beneath every riff, the string section has also layered strata of feedback and
noise, filling every sonic space with the chaos that is this band’s signature
flair.
Despite
all the riotous instrumentation and brutality, Norma Jean keeps the song from
feeling like a pile of ideas by deftly overlapping and recalling earlier
sections, especially in the vocals. The song has multiple lyrical hooks,
including the chorus-like “embrace your comforting company,” the chant of “Captain,
the ship is sinking / Have mercy” in the coda, and of course, the shouts of
“the south is on fire” over the arduous breakdown.[7] In “The End of All Things
Will Be Televised,” Norma Jean carves their blend of syncopated hardcore to fit
into a package that is as catchy as it is epic, and with each listen I give it,
I remember exactly why I love this band.
6.Songs Sound Much Sadder
Co-written
with Underoath’s Timothy McTague,[8] “Songs Sound Much Sadder”
is perhaps the weakest point in Redeemer.
The pop-driven songwriting seems is underwhelming when juxtaposed against the
aggressive mania surrounding it, only made more confusing by the fact that the
verses lack a downbeat, leaving the tune with a somewhat messy foundation.
However, there
is certainly hope in the chorus that is both catchy and heavy, as well as the
outro that explodes like a landmine at the end of the tune. Putman’s got a few
killer lines too, like “We are smashed men, still moving” and “death with a
steady heartbeat,” certainly capturing the emotion the title promises.[9] Although lacking in some
respects, “Songs Sound Much Sadder” still captures the essence of this record
and so earns its place; plus, the music video is pretty kickass, featuring
surrealistic stop motion and a collagesque images reminiscent of the design of
the album’s liner notes.
7.The Longest Lasting Statement
To be
blunt, this tune is HEAVY. With gallons of feedback, a beat like pounding war
drums, and a juggernaut of a breakdown, “The Longest Lasting Statement” has
more impact than an atom bomb. The structure of the song is simple yet
interesting, beginning with a slow and grinding heaviness before jumping into a
bridge of slash beats and dissonance, and finally returning to the first
section, but in a slower, darker, and more pissed-off incarnation.
Contrasting
with the straightforward composition, however, is a remarkably complex lyrical
idea that consistently makes my mind spin. With “The Longest Lasting
Statement,” Putman subtly personifies those early Christians who decided to
take Jesus’ body after he was crucified, and portrays their struggles in a
contemporary framework. Furthermore, when taken in the context of the record’s
larger metaphysical theme, the Biblical idea becomes a metaphor for the many
generations of kids who grew up without a leader and who must now carry on
without one. This deep if not literary thinking gives the song a fascinating and
imaginative subtext that constantly prods my brain into the philosophical
realm.
8.Amnesty Please
Scottie
and Derr are the stars of this tune, mixing it up and down with chugs, slides,
melodies, palm mutes, and thrashing, showing us virtually all the ways a guitar
can make noise. There is a riotous feel to the intro which is only heightened
by Putman’s megaphone-filtered vocals. However, when the beat drops into a
remarkable groove under the lines “Burn this to ashes, ashes and framework,”
this song takes on a soul.[10] The band loads tons of
syncopated riffs in for variety, making “Amnesty Please” virtually danceable
without sacrificing an ounce of the fury that is their core. “Amnesty Please”
is a song that evolves from the first second of life to the last ringing note,
adding layer upon layer of nuance that defines this tune as one of my favorites
off Redeemer.
9.Like Swimming Circles
Similar to
“A Small Spark,” “Like Swimming Circles” is another song from Redeemer that gives voice to a disaster,
albeit this time at sea. Dan Davidson’s pounding and astounding beat in 6/4 is
reminiscent of crashing waves (his drums were apparently recorded in live takes
to capture his intensity)[11], while the driving guitar
and bass create the impression of a maelstrom raging overhead. Putman utilizes
much water imagery in the song, painting in our subconscious a study in the
chaotic movements of water, while the swirling section under the line “Don’t
you dare insinuate me” truly sounds like the score to a typhoon.[12] If the ship is sinking in
“The End of all Things,” it is the livid ocean possessing every note of “Like
Swimming Circles” that takes it down and swallows it whole.
10.Cemetery
Like a Stage
My
absolute favorite from Redeemer,
“Cemetery Like a Stage” holds in its voice more despair than a mourning mother
who has lost her child. Every second of this song is imbued with pure,
unadulterated sadness, every note painted with the deepest grays and blues. The
main riff in 7/8 writhes in the throes of desolation, while the chorus and
bridge wallow in negative space. Jake’s howling bass owns the spotlight in this
song, setting up an awesomely awful progression for the chorus and introducing
a bit of tremolo in the funereal bridge. The sounds he captures with his
instrument in “Cemetery Like a Stage” are the primary influence on my own bass
tones, simultaneously heavy, graceful, dolorous, and irate.
One of my
favorite aspects of this tune is how seamlessly interconnected the many
elements feel. Putman’s rhythmic screaming is locked to the 7/8 groove in the
verse, and the pure rage in the chord progression is an impeccable backdrop to
his wailing declaration: “I joined the avalanche just to feel alive.”
Similarly, Norma Jean is nowhere tighter than in this song’s chorus; the
moaning lines “We’re broken here / We’re ruined here” are the perfect echoes to
the biting guitar progression.[13] In “Cemetery Like a
Stage,” there is no noise that is not authentic, because Norma Jean unloads
every ounce of their being into it, making it impossible for me to do anything
but respond in kind.
11.No
Passenger : No Parasite
Because of
its mostly-instrumental nature and simplistic shape, “No Passenger : No
Parasite” is a gentle but emotional coda to a record that is simultaneously
manic and depressed. The string section provides a strolling and panoramic
environment while the syncopated and polyrhythmic drum intro evolves over the
course of the song, taking on a life of its own and pushing the composition
towards an emotive climax. Putman’s sparse lyrical contribution allows his
voice to become more of an instrument, tingeing the atmosphere of the tune in a
manner rarely seen outside of jazz. Despite its relatively uncomplicated
existence, Norma Jean, as usual, gives to this tune everything they have,
summing up their entire record in the last few seconds by charging headlong to
the very end.
Fans of
the genre might argue that Redeemer
is fairly tame as far as hardcore goes, especially with its layered Christian
undertones and intermixing of clean vocals. However, with a close listen, I
feel there is nothing really tame about this record; in fact, quite the
opposite. There is an entire universe of chaos, dissonance, and brutality
engraved on this disc, especially in the instrumentation, but it is the
tasteful and intelligent presentation that makes that noise so enjoyable and
accessible. Norma Jean spends no time preaching, but rather places a layer of
Christian subtext in their music, which the listener can choose to ignore or
indulge. Similarly, the choices to leave the low end to the bass guitar and
incorporate distinguishable melodies into the hard vocals gives a fresh,
vibrant take on the tropes of hardcore while keeping them at a level digestible
for the uninitiated.
One of the
reasons this record immediately grabbed me was because of how easy it was to
like the sound of Norma Jean. While the dressing and presentation of the music
is versatile and attractive, the band still sounds goddamn vicious as they
pummel their instruments. Each member of Norma Jean really tears every scrap of
sanity from themselves in attempting to make this record, and leaves not a
speck of their being out. In the words of Daniel Davidson, producer Ross
Robinson “encouraged us to get back to the real reason why we got into music…He
told us to write this record ‘like it’s your first record and like it’s your
last record. Give it all you’ve got.’”[14] Every time I spin this
record, it feels like the end of the world, because Norma Jean sculpted their
music to sound like a true apocalypse.
Within all
the heavy and the raw and the chaos that revolves around Redeemer, the music contained on this disc is honest and
passionate, and that more than anything is what pulls me back to it every
single time. Every noisy and pandemonious note from Norma Jean sounds both
unique and heartfelt, as if it holds the secret meaning of life within. The
urgency with which these five musicians play inspires me to throw myself at
each endeavor in the same way they threw themselves into making this record,
and so when I need to give myself a shove, you can be sure that Redeemer will be sounding off behind
me.
