PELICAN: FLICKERING RESONANCE
Does the brand new Pelican LP, complete with the return of founding member Laurent Schroeder Le-Bec, erm... deliver?
PELICAN: FLICKERING RESONANCE
RUN FOR COVER RECORDS, 2025
I’ve always found it easy to listen to Pelican. Right back to Australasia, a new release from them always piques my interest. More so than other instrumental bands of their ilk (Talons, Russian Circles, Mono) and also other post-metal-sprawlers I love (Isis, Old Man Gloom, Sumac etc.). For some reason, Pelican keep me hooked for longer, and I always end up rinsing a new release of theirs for a few weeks once I’ve got my hands on it.
There’s something unique about the hooky nature of their riffs and the clear lines between movements within their songs that gives them an accessibility that the other bands I mentioned lack.
That’s not always a good thing in the big wide world - but here, for me, it shreds barriers and makes Pelican a firm favourite of mine - whether I’m working, driving or immersed in a full-on listening session at the turntable.
They are alone in the way they find a balance between the crushingly heavy and the enigmatically airy. Such a lot goes on within a song that appreciating the craftsmanship of their writing is as profound for me as just vibing out to the elephantine riffs.
Every release has been this way; some heavier than others, some more sprawling, some lighter and punchier - but generally, Pelican are so remarkably consistent that any record of theirs will sweep you off your feet for similar reasons.
The recordings are always great too. Clear and crisp enough to highlight the intricacies in the playing but weighty enough to enhance the sheer ferocity and fluidity of the writing.
Flickering Resonance has a good balance between light and shade, but falls slightly on the softer side of things compared to some of the other LPs - at least as it winds on towards its end. This serves to give the record as a whole a sense of real texture. It creates a rich environment of expectation for the band to shine in.
And shine they do. With the return of founding guitarist Laurent Schroeder Le-bec (who left in 2009), there seems to be a musicality at play that, although barely noticeable to the unititiated, nevertheless reveals itself, surreptitiously, like a nervous pervert behind a privet hedge - when one compares this record to the rest of their catalogue.
Guitars wind rather than crush. Drums accompany the music and back it up in a way that they might have led in places before - which makes the LP feel really solid and mature. But not in a drab way; mature in the sense of this being their nexus. Pelican know what they’re doing and are driven to do it. They’ve created their own niche and are kings of their own hill. They’re just doing what they know how to do, and it dazzles.
It’s not as if they’re resting on their laurels - they are most certainly not - there isn’t a note on Flickering Resonance that feels dialled in - it just all oozes with the confidence of experience.
The vinyl record is a double LP and Side One is flawless.
It begins with the punchy and short Gulch - which betrays their hardcore influences nicely. It’s driving and dense and doesn’t really let up for its short duration.
Evergreen introduces some light to that density but also contains the most magical riff of the LP in its second half. It absolutely rises to lift your heart, just so it can hurl it back down again to create maximum impact and devastating destruction.
Indelible follows and it is gargantuan. Perhaps the most typical Pelican track (if such a thing exists) on Side One. It’s got a really cool wobbling and descending motif at its core that stays with you for ages afterwards. And just wait for the epilogue’s growling bass breakdown.
Brrrrrr.
If these three songs were the only tracks that made up the first Pelican release in six years, it would be satisfying and worthy of classic status - but get this - there are two more sides to get into yet!
The fourth side is a lush etching of the incredible cover art, enhanced by the purple and blue shades of my vinyl. The burnt orange foil flames of the design elevate it to the realms of something really special.
Amazing.
Side Two crashes open with the grungy leading riff of Specific Resonance which dissolves into an awkward chord voicing that slices your balance before climbing again and going back to that first riff that really wouldn’t sound out of place on Nevermind of In Utero.
And then the enormity grows through open chord progressions and those idyllic winding guitar lines that really serve to float the beauty in the tones of the saturated guitars. More texture is provided by an un-effected passage in the middle if the song, which soften things up with gentle picking and sensitive musicianship.
Out from the other side of that, we slowly climb back to a satisfying climax over the course of a few minutes. The guitar passages give an indication of what a vocal melody might have sounded like if a singer existed that could add anything to Pelican’s power.
But no singer exists that could do that.
As the biting and curling heaviosity draws to a close, Specific Resonance leaves you sated and exhausted in the best way. Wonderfully whacked.
And God, I love the choppiness in that last riff.
Cascading Crescent is next and, just when you thought the band couldn’t deliver more FILTHY FUCKING RIFFAGE, we get the gnarliest growler on the LP so far; loping, pissed off and ready for a brawl.
It’s really cool and does this thing where it evolves into a progression that is dominated by its static stance on a single chord for most of its existence, relying on rhythm rather than melody for its addictiveness.
Of course, it breaks down into a reverb-heavy, broken valve distortion, but this time with the addition of harmonising lead-lines. It’s a short track and punches hard. Cascading Crescent will be the deep cut that keeps returning depth and detail on successive listens. I completely guarantee it.
Side Two draws to a close with the majestic Pining Forever.
Its central and introductory riff is elegiac and anthemic - there’s a sorrow in the writing that nevertheless lifts you to the heavens.
Again.
The washes of rhythm guitar and soaring leads are pinned down by that gnarly bass-tone once more, before we drop down to a cleaner sound and a low that feels pensive until the toms start building back up again.
But still the guitars remain soft and clean. Before a beautifully picked and reverb-soaked motif tinkles into a crushing crescendo with the stomp of a foot-pedal.
I’m left wondering if this is the best six-track run Pelican have ever committee to tape.
The detail and articulation are staggering. It’s immediate and, knowing its hooks are in, the predatory nature of the song sinisterly and slowly reveals more and more to your ears until you’re entirely addicted. You can’t help but wonder what other music is being written in 2025 with this level of observation, consideration and attention.
I can’t think of any.
And then, in what feels like only moments, we’re at the end of Side Two and cueing up the third and final side.
Just two songs this time. A little longer. A little more sprawling.
The first one, Flickering Stillness, starts off gently and slightly discordantly. Softly picked notes, ringing out like wind chimes in a desert breeze.
This is the most chill the band are on the LP by some measure.
Soft arpeggios, a gentle pace and layered, clean chords give Flickering Stillness a different vibe from the other songs so far, until the foot hits the floor again for the crunching climax.
It’s the first time my breath isn’t taken away but that’s probably a statement more about the strength of the other tracks than one about any perceived weaknesses of Flickering Stillness.
Wandering Mind is the last song on the album and starts off with an old school rolling bass-line and again, subdued guitars.
It feels that although everything Pelican does has atmosphere at its heart, Side Three is given over more pertinently to display those chops specifically.
My one criticism of Flickering Resonance is that I don’t know if they needed to do that.
As it is, the LP feels as though it fades out on the back of the two slowest and most gentle songs of the album, which unfairly leaves you, once the entire thing is done, feeling that it was a soggier experience than it really was.
If events had been curtailed at the end of Side Two, there would have been less music and texture - but the experience would have ended on a gob-smacking high that left you begging for more. A punchy thirty five minutes rather than a gradual decline to 50.
As it is, after all the magnificent crescendos, the album itself ends on a slightly anti-climactic downer.
That’s not to say Flickering Resonance isn’t fucking brilliant.
It really is.
Side Three just doesn’t compete with the stunning first two sides, is all.
I’d have been tempted to keep it short, sweet and impeccable.
It would have been a 10/10.
Woulda. Shoulda. Coulda.
Until next time, Ave, Children of Dog.