From Louder Than War: SUMAC: The Healer
Album Review
SUMAC: The Healer
LP | CD | DL | CS
Modern Prog/Post Metal supergroup SUMAC beat us relentlessly over the head for 75 minutes via four tracks on a double LP out now on Thrill Jockey. The Healer sees the band evolve; indulging us with tracks composed of discreet movements that tell an instrumental story as well as a violently roared one.
Are you ready?
Then we will begin.
Let’s get this out of the way from the start; The Healer is an epic of Melvillian proportions. Just like the tale of that white whale, the four sides of this album will take you on a journey of every aspect of the human soul; from doubt to delirium, from rebirth to rapture.
A rolling, twisting and, ultimately, compelling, narrative.
As claustrophobic, tense and neurotic as curling up next to Queequeg, and as wave-crashingly fresh and fathomless as the Nantucket seas. It’s as disappointing as losing the briny stench of the chase and it is as consoling as the relief of drifting towards that floating coffin, homeward bound. I’m exhausting the metaphor, but you get the picture. The Healer is huge. In every way: its duration, its depth, its soundscape and its ambition. Whichever way you cut it – and there are a thousand ways to do so – it always ends up MASSIVE.
A SUMAC Primer
It is 2015. Aaron Turner, ex Isis, Old Man Gloom and numerous other experimental and genre-defining projects, decides his next band needs to be freer, heavier and altogether more adventurous. He recruits Brian Cook from Botch and Russian Circles to play bass. He enlists, at Kurt Ballou’s suggestion, Nick Yacyshyn from Baptists to pound the drums. They produce profoundly excellent and experimental post-metal albums, of which The Healer is their fifth, glorious, endeavour. Add to this scenario a desire to go deeper with collaborations and experimentation, and they team-up with Japanese noise artist Keiji Haino.
Together, they create outstanding improvised work, winning plaudits from critics far more adventurous than I. Three collaboration albums are released between lone SUMAC LPs. I find the Keiji work difficult. I appreciate the intent, but the three albums they have released together are a demanding listen for even the keenest ears.
Structured Improvisation
So here we are, nine years and eight albums into a vibrant career with what seems to be their most articulate and structured release so far, despite being the (pure) SUMAC LP most influenced by the improvisation work of Keiji Haino.
Structured but improvised.
This is best explained by taking Yellow Dawn as an example. It’s the digital preview track for the album, so the one with which I am most familiar, and contextually, the easiest example to explain what I mean by “structure”. It’s almost 13 minutes long and is given the entirety of side two to present itself. The more you listen, the more understanding you have of how the piece works.
Here is a timeline:
Movement One: Ambient Growth
We begin with 2.5 minutes of clean guitars against a feedback drone. There’s a laid-back and gentle drum pattern and Hammond-ish hold on the keys (by guest player Faith Coloccia) that Turner noodles over gently, bringing to mind Ege Bamyasi, somehow.
But don’t trust your emotions. You are being lulled into a false sense of security.
Movement Two: Bullhead
The retort to that Krauty calm crashes in, for another 2.5 minutes of Melvins style riffage. Early Melvins. Bullhead. Maybe Ozma. As heavy as a tsunami. Dropping out to solo chord chugs and crashing back in again beneath Turner’s unintelligible roars.
Just long enough for you start getting into its groove.
Movement Three: Terraforming Romans
Then suddenly Brian Cook’s past raises its beautifully discordant head momentarily, as Botchisms abound atop the Melvins grind. It gets breathless, freeing; a rush to the heart.
You’re suddenly lifted from the murky mire into the winds of chaos.
There’s a hearty bit of Swiss math-mentalists Knut in there too, for all the chin-strokers out there, which culminates in a solid minute of four-to-the-floor hardcore exhilaration before lurching ahead.
Movement Four: Rolling Psych Noise Freakout
Into four minutes of manically improvised, wah-driven guitar soloing against ever-changing drum beats and roiling bass lines. It’s a magnificent crescendo of Psych-Prog like you’ve never heard before.
Laden with more “WTF?” moments per minute than anything else you’ll listen to this year.
My personal guarantee.
Movement Five: Epilogue
As the final note of the solo fades, we pick ourselves back up with an echo of the lulling motion of the first movement. A relief from the maelstrom we’ve just steered through. It’s a momentary respite.
The last minute of Yellow Dawn is devoted to out-SUMAC-ing SUMAC. This is what you’ve come for. Discordant riffing, blasting drums and Turner’s death roars.
And then, all too soon (surprisingly), the Yellow Dawn has broken and we’re heading out on the next stage of our adventure with our backs to the sun.
Breaking Down The Healer
Applying this technique to the rest of the album is a rewarding experience that helps to articulate what you are hearing.
New Rites follows Yellow Dawn and is equally brief (!) – just two seconds longer. Weirdly, though, it has fewer movements which makes it feel shorter. You’re still getting premium meat for your money, though.
The two most concise tracks are book-ended on sides one and two by two 25-minute expressive monsters, World of Light and The Stone’s Turn.
Of these, the latter is the stronger piece. It is less meandering, although some of the improvisational elements are slightly distracting (see below).
And all is well with the world when the final six minutes of The Healer kick in. It’s taken time to get here, and it has demanded your attention, patience and endurance, but that makes the reward all the sweeter, as we hear archetypal SUMAC riffing – if there is such a thing – close out the album perfectly.
Opener, World of Light, is more wandering; lighter. More drone. Less payback. It’s a different experience; a less dynamically engaging piece. It feels looser, ambient. It’s harder to find the latch-points within, but they are there, they just take a little longer to unearth.
Again, the last minute is a minute of pure majesty, just FYI. It’s that well-earned pay-off again.
Studying The Form
Despite the apparent free-form nature of the songs, there is a structure to the music that is profoundly well-considered. The heavier elements have been curated; written, rehearsed and tightened specifically to deliver the punch required. The improvisational, looser playing occupies the space between, where the meandering ad-libbing doesn’t interfere with the showcase heft.
If I have one criticism of The Healer, it’s that a few of those improvisational elements feel slightly disjointed and disconnected. The real joy of improvisation comes from musicians responding to each other on the fly and providing a unified piece of music on the hoof. There are two or three moments across The Healer when the three musicians sound like they’re doing their own thing without really bedding down with each other as a unit.
It’s the nature of the beast, and who am I to quibble, when the overall result is so coherent and challenging, but regardless of the slaying I’ll doubtlessly get from the hardcore, it feels to me like there are a couple of spots throughout the record that could be more refined.
And speaking of refinement, let’s have a round of applause for Scott Evans. His work behind the mixing desk is masterful. It’s a great recording; every instrument is clear, despite their individual compression and energy; there’s space and clarity which emphasises the scale of the sound beautifully.
A Wonderful Thing
The vinyl itself has the same attention to detail that the music has.
Whether that’s Aaron Turner’s abstract expressionism on the cover or the fantastic font work within. Or the outer high-gloss slip-sleeve surrounding the matt stock of the full-spined inner sleeve. Or the lustrous coke-bottle-glass, indies-only, clear vinyl.
Thrill Jockey have exceeded all expectations in the presentation department. It’s a prestige release.
SUMAC records are always beautiful, tactile things. It must be Aaron Turner’s influence, because the same can be said for Old Man Gloom, Isis and virtually all the Hydra Head back catalogue. I’m glad Thrill Jockey are enabling that artistry and have created a product so tactile you want to touch it, play it, stroke it…
So – just like Moby Dick, The Healer demands a lot from you.
Patience is a virtue, and, much like latter-day Swans, taking the time to embed yourself into the soul of the music reaps the greatest rewards.
As an entire 75-minute Magnus Opus, The Healer demands that you indulge it.
I can’t recommend highly enough that you do just that. The Healer has the capacity to alter the way you consume music; the way you feel it, think about it and lose yourself within it.
It has the capacity to, *ahem*, heal.
Arise, For You Are Healed
If you already love SUMAC, you know all this already, and you’ll love The Healer. You’ve probably already bought it. Congratulations.
If you yearn for crushingly heavy atrocities punctuated by free-form improvisational passages and haven’t heard SUMAC before, you’ll love it. Adulations.
If you are a patient noise virgin seeking a transcendental journey upon unpredictable musical oceans, you too, will love it. I’m jealous of your discovery.
If, on the other hand, you’re looking for an instant fix; shallow tunes to joyfully whistle as you nonchalantly go about your business; something bright, breezy, predictable… you’ll hate it.
In fact, you’ll despise it.
With the intensity of the heat of a thousand suns.
And that, dear reader, is just as it should be.