30 Seconds To Mars
Love Lust Faith + Dreams

WARNING: The writer declines any responsibility for possible damages to wonderful lies, self-esteem, jumps from thirty-meter skyscrapers, and multicolored balls.

30 Seconds to Mars have released a new album. And they claim to have changed. Hmm. I listen with the typical skepticism of a habitual listener of "serious" music, not entirely convinced, but still intrigued by the premises that Jared Leto, frontman and singer of the group, spreads around. To best appreciate this album, to convince yourself that it’s not just Festivalbar playback material, you have to start with an open mind, as if it were a debut album. Leave behind what was said about the 30 Seconds to Mars of "A Beautiful Lie" (in my opinion still a good band), just because they were riding the wave of the old MTV.

Many of you think and will continue to think that it’s the classic album made to earn money, with a couple of "power songs to keep the fans happy." But it’s not like that. What we are faced with is a very ambitious concept album that aims to analyze the multiple spheres into which life is divided, conveniently grouped into four poles: Love, Pleasure (or Lust, if you will), Faith, and Dreams. So at least says a gentle female voice at the beginning of the related block of songs narrating the subject.

"Love." And the album begins with a crescendo of timpani and drums in the monumental "Birth" that takes off at the end only to dive headfirst into the subsequent "Conquistador." Lyrics more or less trivial, but they blend perfectly with the music. Time for a critique, and the voice persists: "Lust." Up In The Air, the third track of the album, for which I will not even hint at the commercial stunt performed by the Los Angeles trio to promote it. A song with disco turns, difficult to categorize, perhaps the only song that best reflects the previous album "This Is War." Fortunately.

"City Of Angels" perhaps represents the best marriage between the old band and what they are trying to be now: pleasant and flowing, Jared Leto’s voice resounds like never before. A big problem considering his poor live performances. The subsequent The Race is introduced by very pretentious yet pleasant violins, and the song spurs me to note how the choruses the group introduced in the previous album and overused ad nauseam have indeed worn thin. One of the few flaws found so far.

The first ballad of the album is "End Of All Days," which doesn’t excite me much and gets boring after a while, leaving a neutral impression. We then arrive at what I consider the masterpiece of the album: Pyres Of Varanasi. A magnificent, dark, and mysterious instrumental over which Indian chants are recited. Fantastic, maybe this is really what I was looking for.

"Faith." The voice makes us aware again of what we are listening to, and so do the annoying choruses in Bright Lights. Lyrics are average, but as I was saying, they blend perfectly with the atmosphere that is building step by step. In fact, we started from Love in a "strong" way (relatively speaking) to then gradually fade away, zooming out to other realms, a slight descent until touching the ground, towards the world of dreams. The subsequent Do Or Die still falls into the realm of Faith, but what strikes is the crescendo of Convergence, an instrumental composed by Shannon Leto, the group’s drummer, which starts with a light, repetitive xylophone, almost as if trying to put us to sleep. Indeed.

"Dreams." Finally, the voice recites. The atmosphere immediately becomes darker, gloomy, and impenetrable, like a bad dream where it's hard to understand your own role. Northern Lights develops this idea. We have analyzed life, we've fallen asleep, become victims of a nightmare. Is dreaming really that wonderful? Are we entirely independent of what we unconsciously think? These are the ideas the album gives to reflect upon. With these cold questions in our mouths, the album heads towards its conclusion with "Depuis Le Début." The song starts cold, voice and guitar in the most mundane way possible, then suddenly stops. The string section and the timpani we left at the beginning of the album make their entrance. A sharp hit. Two. Another. Then silence. The atmosphere of an indecipherable dream has been worthily recreated. "Do I really dream what I want even though I can’t control it?" The questions begin to crowd inside our heads. Meanwhile, the song gently begins the sound of a music box, sweet, lullaby-like. Repetitive. The music box plays, we have awakened. Like children, we seek comfort, unaware that there is no escaping our deepest selves (the Argus Apocraphex, the group calls it). This is only a truce. How much longer are we still safe from ourselves? From our dreams? Are we really aware of what our life is at the moment? The music box continues relentlessly. It stops. Silence.