Deafheaven - Infinite Granite

The Quietus

People have been shit-talking Infinite Granite for months. Ever since the lead single, 'Great Mass of Color', arrived in early June, knives have been out for Deafheaven, for ‘selling out’, for ‘going soft’, for focusing on more 'accessible' sounds – any and all of these reasons. See, George Clarke is no longer rasping and screaming his way through their songs – he’s actually singing. Kerry McCoy and Shiv Mehra’s guitar bluster has become a crystalline wind on a stormy night, occasionally switching their axes for synths.The rhythm section of drummer Daniel Tracy and bassist Christopher Johnson no longer sound like a lumpen anchor desperately tying it all to the ground, they’re now filled with melodicism.

Yet, they still sound like nobody but Deafheaven. While some will say Infinite Granite is an inversion – perhaps a betrayal – of the ‘black metal’ sound they made their name in, the fact is, Deafheaven never placed that tag on themselves. What’s more, if anyone’s surprised by this next step, they clearly haven't been paying attention. Deafheaven have always coveted beauty just as much as brutality in their music, and their previous album, 2018’s Ordinary Corrupt Human Love, already featured several songs where they put aside the excoriating elements and just allowed themselves to breathe.

It's certainly not that much of a surprise to Deafheaven themselves that they've gone this way. Such is the clarity of their vision, they even hired a new producer to help them achieve it, relegating usual ally Jack Shirley to engineer so that they could work with Justin Meldal-Johnsen, whose credits include Wolf Alice, M83 and Paramore. They evidently wanted to attain that sky-scouring epicness while introducing a new level of approachability, and in that they have succeeded. Infinite Granite won’t be filling up the airwaves however, even a spin on BBC 6 Music in the afternoon seems a stretch because, while Deafheaven may not be as vicious as before, they sure as hell are still loud – and intense.

That said, the intensity might not be evident from the opening track 'Shellstar' – a baptism by pure, refreshing ice water for those coming into this record fearing for the loss of the grand old Deafheaven of yore. The band clearly give no shits though, and 'Shellstar' sets out their intentions in no uncertain terms; a wan synth atmosphere prefacing sprightly, popping drums and glistening, skating guitar lines – and, of course, there’s Clarke’s voice, sweetly singing about "a sublime wander through summer fire".

His voice, and in particular his words, are bound to draw a lot of criticism now that they’re clearly audible in the mix. Many might find his brand of poetry flowery or even juvenile, as he sings of visual feelings like "frigid bedroom capture in a Spring without desire" or more directly asks questions like "can I accept I’m real?" It’ll be a personal choice whether to appreciate or scoff, but there is a delicacy and ephemeral beauty to them that matches the shimmering sounds all around, while the vocal melodies work in the same way as his voice always used to – the glinting tip of the axe that is the Deafheaven sound. When Clarke's voice is layered into harmonies and echoing backing vocals, as on the glistening ‘In Blur’ or vocoded to pure texture on 'Villain', the result is simply gorgeous.

Even more exciting is the work of drummer Daniel Tracey. While he has always been a sensational percussionist, his more technically impressive moments often came in tandem with blasts of noise, meaning they were heard simply as one element of the cyclone. Now, as the guitars spread wide, they leave his avenue clear to be the pounding, pulverising heart of the sound – there is a beautiful rhythmic intelligence to the way he plays. Just listen to the way he guides us through album centrepiece 'Lament For Wasps', where the guitars remain fairly anonymous, skirting beautifully around the edges while the precision percussion is atmospheric in the early stages, energetic in transition, splashy and bright as they enter the starry mid-section, then detonate his impressive double bass drumming to add distant thunder to the plunging finale.

The drumming is also crucial to the real thing that has always made Deafheaven so vital: the dynamics. Their ability to build up 100-tonne sounds then frictionlessly pivot into a hair-raising moment of pure exhilaration is still intact, even if they’re only working with half the velocity of their previous output. They use this relative lightness for nimbler switches of momentum, as on 'Great Mass of Color’=' where they glide through verses then shift into an aural swan-dive for the choruses. They invert this on 'The Gnashing', kicking off with ferocious, buzz-saw guitar, only to crack open and reveal an ascendant, euphoric chorus. This is before they revert back to one of their favoured tricks of pulling back to quiet, then launching a dirty bomb of sheer furious elegance to finish, McCoy providing the only true guitar solo on the record with some white hot playing.

In fact, all this relative holding back on the volume, double bass drumming and screaming means that when they do utilise those old favourite tools, they’re even more effective. The tail end of 'Great Mass of Color' is the first example, Deafheaven lulling us with their sublime shoegaze, only for the drums to lead the charge as they bubble out of the blue into a volcanic eruption in the finale, Clarke’s rasp arcing across it like a flaming ball of rock. 'Villain' finds them coasting weightlessly for the majority, Clarke’s wordless falsetto fitting naturally amid the frosty beauty, until they reach a point of ambience that telegraphs the oncoming thunderblast from miles away – and once again it’s delight to hear the singer returning to his rasp, which feels especially vicious.

Best of all is the titanic finale to the album, 'Mombasa', which begins with acoustic guitar and Clarke singing of being "stranded naked on the sandbar". They waft their way along in this mode for a while, introducing some glimmering electronics like moonlight on water, blissfully taking their time. After five minutes of this lullaby, 'Mombasa' explodes out of nowhere and all your favourite Deafheaven sounds are back: guitars grinding like tectonic plates playing a symphony, Clarke screaming like his lungs are filled with wasps, Tracey’s double bass drumming and impossibly fast stick work hurtling along underneath.

With that, they depart, leaving a scorching burn across your mind in their wake. It’s the perfect way to underline and emphasise the fact that Deafheaven are still Deafheaven, their grand spectrum of colours and emotions still firmly intact – and they can use them to paint as vividly as ever. While perhaps not as original or unpredictable as their previous monoliths, Infinite Granite is undoubtedly another epic, engrossing and engulfing piece.

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Pitchfork 65

Read Patrick Lyons’ review of the album.

Angry Metal Guy 40

Deafheaven changed my life. Or, more specifically, Sunbather changed my life. That’s not hyperbole. That album is the reason you are reading this review. Pre-Sunbather, I didn’t understand metal. But Deafheaven spoke it in a language I could finally interpret. The howls and shrieks and drums and guitars, previously so impervious to my attempts at decoding, were suddenly utilized in a way that incorporated real emotion. A new world was revealed. It blew my fucking mind. And it broke my fucking heart. That knee-buckling, cascading, glorious riff at 7:55 in “The Pecan Tree”? I remember exactly where I was the first time I heard it. It made me cry. It still makes me cry. And yes, I’m fully aware by now that Sunbather was not ground-breaking to those already in the scene. But to me? It completely altered my brain. I listened to it, and chewed on it, and sucked the marrow from it, every day for nearly 18 months. And the need to find the feeling that Sunbather gave me is the reason I am now a metalhead. I know Deafheaven is divisive, but they are my first metal love. You never forget your first.

Which brings us to Infinite Granite. Every Deafheaven album prior to this has been a reaction to the last. If the cold, heavy New Bermuda was an attempt to establish the band’s bona fides to a skeptical metal world after Sunbather, Ordinary Corrupt Human Love was the group embracing the warm blackgaze sound they pioneered and drifting away from the black metal scene about which they have always been so ambivalent. In that respect, Infinite Granite breaks the mold: it is a continuation of the aesthetic of OCHL, not a reaction to it. Viewed through that lens, the virtual abandonment of shrieked vocals and blast beats, and the lean towards shiny post-rock, is completely unsurprising. Deafheaven has been headed in this direction for a while now. But here lies the rub: while I have been moving towards black metal’s orbit, Deafheaven have been escaping it. Which made me profoundly worried about this new collection. While artists should never remain static, the truth was: my favorite band were no longer playing the music that made me love them.

Deafheaven deals in emotion. Part of what has always polarized metal fans is the band’s unironic embrace of vulnerability. Either you buy it, and feel it in your bones, or you think it’s insincere hipster schtick, piggybacking on the novelty of established metal tropes, while disrespecting their lore. For those of us on board, Infinite Granite is still very clearly a Deafheaven record, and carries the emotional core that makes their back catalog so remarkable. But while the core is intact, the song writing is variable, which dilutes it. These are post-rock cuts that deviate little from the template established years ago. Ethereal verse, harder rock chorus. Rinse and repeat. It’s neither particularly inspiring nor surprising. With few exceptions, nothing here grips and surprises like the Brit-pop pivots of “Gifts for the Earth” on New Bermuda, or the quirky lightness of “Canary Yellow” on OCHL. These are pleasant, but predictable songs that initially sound better than they actually are. Much of the credit for this must go to Dan Tracy’s superb stick work. His inventive rhythms (check the subtle rolls on “In Blur,” or the compelling beat of “The Gnashing”) supply a subtle but necessary force to keep the songs humming along.

Much of the power of previous Deafheaven albums came from the successful juxtaposition the band achieved between gorgeous shoegaze and furious black metal. Like post-metal giants Isis, Deafheaven realized that the quiet interludes did not simply exist to provide a break from the intensity, but could be utilized to build momentum for the next sonic assault. It is here that Infinite Granite really begins to crumble. Without the fire of black metal, a key component of what made early material so resonant has been lost. The songs hit their emotional beats, but they never soar. There’s an absence; a fire that has been extinguished. Some of the blame rests with George Clarke’s vocals. They’re fine, but they’re also bland. His screams were nothing notable, but he had the engine of gorgeous black metal to coast on. Here, he has to shoulder a lot more responsibility to sell the songs, and he simply doesn’t have the range or charisma to hoist them to the next level.

Infinite Granite ends with “Mombasa,” and it is here that the band makes the most intriguing decision of the album. Like other tracks, it starts slowly and beautifully, and then, with 3 minutes to go, out of nowhere, it ignites. Guitars smash in, George Clarke’s growl is back, guitars soar, blast beats return, and it feels like the Deafheaven of old have barged in. It’s cathartic and glorious and it’s everything good about the band. Then, just as abruptly, it, and the album, end. What does it mean? The band reminding fans that they haven’t given up black metal entirely? A farewell to their aesthetic? A hint of what’s to come? It’s the best 3 minutes of Infinite Granite, but it also highlights what’s been missing, emphasizing the deficiencies of what came before.

Infinite Granite is the painful realization that Deafheaven and I have just grown too far apart. Which breaks my fucking heart (again). I respect the band’s direction, I respect the bravery to follow that direction, but I can’t pretend I love the results. The fire that set my soul alight on Sunbather has been replaced by shiny, post-rock blandness. The emotion that brought tears to my eyes through its intensity now barely functions as background music. I was ready to write the whole thing off. Except for those final 3 minutes, man. It’s like a true love walking away, but at the last moment, turning around, giving an enigmatic glance and smiling. Too little, too late. But it’s something. Maybe enough.



Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Sargent House
Websites: deafheavens.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/deafheaven
Releases Worldwide: August 20th, 2021

The post Deafheaven – Infinite Granite Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

The Guardian 0

(Sargent House)
Fifth album by San Francisco band finds intense and yes, ethereal, shoegaze taking over from black metal

Each new Deafheaven album has seemed to react against the last, changing moods and textures without ever sacrificing their heaviness. Infinite Granite might be their most startling gesture yet: though elements can be traced back to 2018’s Ordinary Corrupt Human Love, it takes those elements and expands them to album length. Infinite Granite, really, is not a metal album. It’s the album where the shoegaze entirely supplants the black metal in their blackgaze equation.