London

The use of narrative is no strange beast to the metal medium. Bands like Mastodon, Opeth, and, of recent note, Bast and Ethereal Riffian have each tackled the story-telling method with great success. One can now add London, the second full-length release from the progressive black/death metal quartet Voices, to this growing list. And while it’s not quite as fetching or as memorable as say, Edge of Sanity’s Crimson, the latest chapter from Voices is a distressingly bleak and melancholic depiction of the band’s beloved metropolis.

Comprised of three members of the now defunct Akercocke—vocalist/guitarist Peter Benjamin, guitarist Sam Loynes, and drummer David Gray—as well as Sarah Jezebel Deva bassist Dan Abela, Voices are not so far removed from the eclectic darkness that infiltrated Akercocke, but instead focus their malice more acutely, if not as successfully, on an atmosphere that blurs the line between black, death, and even, in a Paradise Lost/My Dying Bride manner, the gothic.

London, as far as the reviewer can surmise sans full lyrics, transforms the listener into a remora of sorts, taking them on a winding stroll through the city’s foggy, puddled streets with a man whose inner workings appear entirely less than stable. The usage of intermittent narrators, one male and one female, is decidedly experimental, unnerving, and, from time to time, bordering on poetic pretension, in spite of how well the text was written, or how creepily British it all comes off. It’s a nice supplement to the music, however, grabbing your attention in a way that even the music occasionally fails to accomplish.

Not quite as ebon-tinted as its predecessor, London, with its glum and methodical approach, seems closer to noir metal—if there is such a thing—and even gears itself to a more deathly approach; often sounding like a blackened Gojira, replete with detective hats and trench coats and Philip Marlowe’s innate attraction to untrusting (maybe even murderous) dames. The music is appropriately heavy, frantic, and complex; more often than not relying on emotions, an empathic ear, and its peculiar strain of wiry psychedelia, as opposed to strictly wowing with its considerably thunderous musicianship. The vocals, on the other hand, may be London’s most divisive element as Benjamin bravely attacks screams and wobbly sung passages alike on tracks like “Music for the Recently Bereaved” or the exceptionally sexual and upset “Last Train Victoria Line,” but he also stuns by showing impressive restraint on the pitiful and beautiful tandem tracks “Suicide Note” and “The Antidote.”

London is an ambitious affair, and its melding of massive rhythms—highlighted by Gray’s wonderful drumming; the solo on “Megan” was a most welcome surprise—with peals of unorthodox patterns and a looming air of urban austerity creates an album that is difficult to dismiss—despite its occasionally quailing poetics. Backed by a giant production that trumps anything Akercocke had previously delivered, Voices have fashioned a remorselessly concussive second record that invites you to wander London’s dark and damp allies, to shake hands with its dejected populace, and to become one of its own.

Written for The Metal Observer