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DISCLAIMER: Okay, so I wrote this in April 2012, hence the anachronisms throughout. There’s no significance in me publishing it now; this isn’t some great moment of catharsis and nor do I feel like I’m putting lots of demons to rest by making this public. 

It may not be the best thing I’ve written, nor the most relevant, but it reflects (as it continues to do so) how I feel about a song that was significant at a hard time in my life. That’s all.

Progressive music (known affectionately as Prog) does not have a natural entry point for a lot of people. It is music built around a non-linear structure, foregoing the verse-chorus based formula of ‘standard’ music, and therefore often stands out amongst other genres for being an oddity. Yet, as the recent release of Anathema’s Weather Systems proves, this isn’t a genre that delights in obscurity, but moreover one that uses obscurity to emphasise its delights. Prog shelters and nurtures a richness in its music that is rarely found elsewhere, and for me, this depth is captured in one song.

Anathema’s Judgement, released in 1999, was their fifth studio album. It was an album that saw the band holding onto some last, desolate bastion of doom, but it marked a notable departure from the then six year old colossal, caustic heft of the like of Serenades. Pitched right in the middle of this release is ‘One Last Goodbye’, a song built on residues of grief and loss, and one that was written by the Cavanagh brothers soon after their mother’s death.

From the off, the tangible, suffocating grief of the lyrics is almost overwhelming. Knowing the circumstances of its conception, trying to grasp the meaning of words that have been written and compute them into some sort of understanding is harrowing. Framing this is a song structure that echoes the irrepressible, unsleeping torment of the words; there is no chorus here, no return point, just an endless outpouring of grief as Vincent Cavanagh moves between despair, “But the strength I always loved in you//finally gave way” and clutching at mirages of hope:

“In my dreams I can see you
I can tell you how I feel
In my dreams I can hold you
And it feels so real”

With these latter lyrics, the song builds into a tempest, words thrown angrily into the wind at the surety of this injustice.

The song peaks about three and a half minutes in, as Cavanagh seems to gain acceptance in the midst of his sorrow “And somehow I knew you would leave me”, and as the last strand of “oh I wish, I wish you could have stayed” crashes home, a soaring solo erupts out of the anguish of the words. This is a moment that’s all at once beautiful and crushing, and leaves a trail of emotion as tangible as any of the lyrics.

It’s easy to get bogged down in the minutiae of a song that means so much to you; ‘One Last Goodbye’ echoes a very specific part of my life, and a similar circumstance. It’s one of the few places that has granted solace and unquestioning acceptance, and is one of these uniquely beautiful and harrowing songs that says more through its progression than anyone else has been able to.

Of course, like I said above, this is uniquely personal. I do believe, however, that progressive music is one of the few places that can facilitate such an evocative story, and phrase it in a way that it’ll mean something different to every single person that digests it.

From the brazen stomp of opener, All Over the Road, through to the stripped-bare  beauty of Face of Light, Rival Sons have created in ‘Pressure & Time’ an effortless return to simple, unwashed blues-rock. What the band have captured here is the essence of rock without posturing or pretension, and execute it in the most heart-warming way possible; the vocals are rich and emotive beyond belief, the bass and drums are tight and the guitar, for the most part, burns with a raw, passionate screech.

The title track’s riff is repetitive, insistent and showcases some of the only musical flourish on the album; the groove that’s created is insatiable.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MA0m1K2jW4

When Rival Sons do drop the pace, there is tangible emotion to be had here. Only One and Face Of Light are magnificent demonstrations of the deep-set passion and sincerity that runs through the heart of the record; honestly, it might not even matter what the content of the songs are about because the sound here is honest and timeless. Undoubtedly the rock album of the year.

It’s been a slow week. I’ve posted nothing of any real significance for ages. So continuing in that vein, here are my top listened to tracks on itunes since May. The volume of Architects is due to being slightly obsessed with The Here & Now when it came out; it has since lost its polish somewhat.

In other news, download Turbowolf’s self-titled album. You can get it for a fiver from their label here http://hasslerecords.sandbag.uk.com/Store/DII-2668-6-turbowolf:+turbowolf+mp3.html. It’s incredible.

A regurgitation this may be (from March of this year), but the points are still valid. Please ignore the wankiness:

I approached this album joylessly, expecting to find the inevitable smash, pound, screaming wail and explosive amalgamation of petulant noise that has rapidly become the recognisable backdrop to our raging, dissatisfied and disheartened British youth. It is this generations’ discontent vocalised; the striking of the match, the call for unbridled reformation, the dogged masses piling up to the palace gates like the dead against the gates of hell. As Byron noted, music is the most irresistible force in the dictation of emotion, in the commanding of man’s will. My love of music is locked into its capacity for inspiring, changing and inciting. However, when music loses this capacity because of an absence of innovation or feeling then it serves to discredit the entire cause that it has been (supposedly) championing.  Metalcore had once looked to be the successor to the anarchist throne, the grimy heir to punk and social dysfunction, but in recent times its crown and sceptre have been gathering dust, with bands instead opting to chase a sound that has become all too predictable and lucrative; it had appeared that this marked the end of a feeling that had started with riotous bands such as Misfits and Black Flag, all those years ago.

Thankfully the 2011 release from Brighton upstarts Architects, The Here and Now, is a refreshing and exciting reinvention of the genre. It certainly lacks the aggression of their previous effort, the biting Hollow Crown, but, as their current album title suggests, they are firmly living in the moment, much to the listeners benefit. To purists, this will no doubt look like ‘selling out.’ It certainly is a step down in intensity from their last album; the clean vocals are prevalent through The Here and Now and the musicianship doesn’t always gallop at top speed. These are two highly endearing factors though. This is a band who may look like they’re trying to break into the mainstream, but who are actually doing the opposite. In my opinion, the negative connotations of the ‘mainstream’ should lie with the reams of identical extremists and the musical ‘hardcore’ who imitate the successes of KSE, Underoath and other genre-dominating monoliths. Architects have had the cajones to mature a sound that is dark and still as full of angst as before. This step has made them more identifiable, dangerously relevant and increasingly capable of being able to play with the big boys.

Album opener, and Architect’s newest single, Day In  Day Out is a fantastic statement of intent; Sam Carter spits disaffectedly ‘The years I put into this’ before the song ploughs into a huge and devastating groove, with the vocalist shifting with ease between his throaty accusations and melancholic clean lyrics. At no point does it seem that these complaints against our society are contrived; the sincerity is clear, the point is not lost. Moreover, Architects exude their youth and passion through themes such as relationships (An Open Letter To Myself), self-decomposition (Red Eyes) and love (Heartburn), without sounding self-deprecating or sickly-sweet at any point.  Why can’t more bands sound like they are as genuine as this Brighton outfit? This record is cliché free, absent of any unnecessary breakdowns or fuckwit lyrics. After three or four listens, Architects’ insistent and passionate outlook will have attached itself to you.

If you’re looking for another Hollow Crown, then you will be disappointed. This is a band who have moved past their musical adolescence and have found a maturity that has been missing from their previous outputs. However one truth remains standing as solidly as before; changing pace, tone or tact is not an indication of compromise. Don’t believe me? Then you’ll end up as unimaginative and restrained by your boundaries as metalcore has become.