Doomy, dirty, weirdly funky grime with an ineffable swing to it; never too frugal for catchy chord progression, and a dusty light of hope.
They used to call him weird – this kid, back in the day – because he got his head in some fringe music. Upon a wave of underground curiosity, he reveled in that edgy bizzaro shit. Nothing you would catch on the radio: no sound-bite. What an outsider; what a snob, let’s be real. Didn’t know as much as he thought he did but the camera obscura of taste brokers no excuses. I was that kid. Still am in a lot of ways. And something in Ddent’s discography calls me back to those days. Remember when you got excited by any little thing, how magical it was? Somehow, this project puts me in mind of that again. And yes, I’m still a snob.
So. Continuing the quasi-industrial post-metal melo-doom approach with sporadic guitar supremacy, Ddent arduously embody the unadulterated essence of modern metal’s love affair with graceful grime. Classical, simple, beautiful melodies are entrenched and elevated by the deliberate, hypnotic, often uplifting – despite our best efforts at brooding – feedback-rich doom.
The album opens already in the dream, ”La Nuit Transforme”. Desperate, ominous chords bounce off of one another. Feedback and strings score a rapture borne of anguish. The night terrifies and comforts in equal measure. ”Océans de Mazout” mounts a plodding post-metal fronted by rising and lilting arpeggios; a blackened dirge for the planet. Sounding a bit like The Ocean as the guitar and drums march down the hypnotic meter, ”Mains sans Lumiéres” leads with the style I have come to expect from Ddent. Doomy, dirty, weirdly funky grime with an ineffable swing to it; never too frugal for catchy chord progression, and a dusty light of hope. ”Sans Existences” marches out the dream like the early rays peaking through clenched eyelids, sunkissed by reverb and fingers sliding around the neck – a tactile sensation that often gives the good chills on vinyl. Riffs unfolding forcefully, hypnotically, ultimately unresolved into the obscurity of light as the eyes shake off the dust of sleep.
Ex Auditu Pt I was a piece that dealt in the same emotional and technical motifs but flirted with a colder, more industrial palette. But the two parts together begin to form a fuller range of auditory – and, indeed, tactile – response, begin to get at the depth hinted by the project’s stark symbolism, the two pieces together sketching out but a few scenes now. Together, a fleeting pastiche of righteous reclusive Doom and Post-Rock. The pathways are wide open for the next installment, and I hope we get it. The format seems to be conducive to this kind of episodic work and my ears are ready. I hope this is just the opening credits.
