![]() It is a ceaseless barrage of the banal.įor a decade now, Wolfe’s own albums have colored in shades of dark gray, and those spells have sometimes worked. The ghoulish chants of “Tongues Playing Dead,” the overwrought crisscrossing harmonies of “Daimon,” reams of purple poetry about liars and cowards and flowers and (obviously) moons that say so very little- Bloodmoon feels like a prog-rock collage built from the scraps of the overblown metal bands that tend to get nominated for Grammys. Despite those predictable modes, the sounds are so overdone and unfocused that listening in one sitting is exhausting. Its hard rock-meets-hardcore permutations are familiar to anyone who has ever heard, say, Evanescence and Breaking Benjamin. Bloodmoon suffers from two problems that seem as though they should preclude one another: It is thin on fresh ideas and unexpected twists. “Viscera of Men” slides gracefully between hardcore pummel and operatic majesty when those styles meet about 40 seconds into the song, it is scintillating, a concise demonstration of how to play well with others.īut such thrills are few and far between amid this hour-long morass. ![]() Thrilling little moments lurk in the recesses-the barbed glissandi beneath the outbursts of “Blood Moon,” the bells twinkling around Nate Newton’s jarring bass on “Flower Moon,” the way Wolfe and Bannon tangle with the heat of Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen during “Crimson Stone.” Taking lead vocals on “Failure Forever,” Brodsky coaxes Converge into relaxing just enough to net a pop-metal winner, a stern anthem of perseverance with a soft hook at the center. ![]() Especially considering that Ballou, one of metal’s most vital producers, patched the album together from these long-distance pieces, it sounds phenomenal, its complex layers tucked together with the intricacy and care of a prize-winning baklava. After an initial 2019 session, lockdown stymied further real-time collaborations, meaning the bulk of the record was built via pen-pal exchange. These new forms mostly flatter no one bloated, maudlin, and tiresome, Bloodmoon is the surprising nadir of a career that long seemed dauntless.Įvery bit of Bloodmoon, of course, isn’t a waste. For the rest, as on the smoke-haloed doom of “Scorpion’s Sting,” Converge sound as if they’re trying to be anything other than themselves, to shake loose hardcore strictures once and for all. About half the time, as on the arcing opener, the results are a kind of Converge With Friends affair, the flagship’s primal fits given extra melodic or theatrical flair. Gothic singer-songwriter Chelsea Wolfe and Cave In livewire (and former Converge member) Stephen Brodsky wrote and recorded Bloodmoon with the band, following years of sporadic collaborations. For these 11 tracks, they resort to a trick so predictable even Itchy and Scratchy tried it: Add new members to an old mix that always worked. Their new album Bloodmoon: I is the first time Converge have truly shown their wear.
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