Altar of Plagues
Teethed Glory and Injury

Among the most interesting releases of 2013, I would certainly include “Teethed Glory and Injury” by the now disbanded Altar of Plagues, who with their third and final studio work managed to reach an enviable state of maturity in terms of post-black metal, a sub-genre very much in vogue these days.

Born under the banner of a black metal as atmospheric as it is visceral, and with a strong environmentalist connotation (all aspects that brought their offering closer to that of the American Wolves in the Throne Room), Altar of Plagues were able, in just a few years, to trace an incredible upward trajectory, reaching (in my opinion) the zenith with this release: “Teethed Glory and Injury” ends up distancing the trio from Cork not only from the jaws of the aforementioned Wolves, but also from the standards of their two previous works (the already remarkable “White Tomb” and “Mammal”).

From the cover (excellent in my opinion: to be placed next to that of another great album released this year, “Sunbathed” by Deafheaven), the new work of the Irish presents itself as fresh and dry, sleek and devoid of lengthy sections. No longer four long tracks (a scheme adopted in both previous works), but nine disjointed and alienating shards for about forty-eight minutes of distorted and at times sensational post-black metal. In this desolation of sounds and noises, various solutions can still be linked to that post-rock that inspired what was built in the past, but this time the three decide to look further ahead, not to yield to the allure of extended composition where everything happens, to the appeal of the overused exercise of tension and release, but to strive to operate within a relatively contained timing (except for a couple of exceptions) and to navigate in a sharp, minimalistic sound fabric, but dense with ideas: dry riffs, guitar contortions, dissonances, lightning-fast tempo changes, math-rock geometries, industrial suggestions and even a touch of electronics (provided by an intelligent - and never intrusive - use of keyboards). We are not far from what was theorized and proposed last year by Liturgy with “Aesthethica”.

But the Altars of Plagues are not the Shellac of black metal, rather they recall, in the intent of combining synthesis and descriptive ability, our own Massimo Volume (if I am allowed to reference) and in particular the monolithic “Cattive Abitudini”, an album I have listened to a lot lately. But if that work constituted for Clementi & co the important and acclaimed (as well as long-awaited) return after a silence of more than ten years, “Teethed Glory and Injury” is the epitaph of a reality in a state of incipient disintegration. In this last effort, the seeds of dissolution were already present, it is clear, in fact, that Altar of Plagues could not have continued their path, not under those conditions. Post that more post you cannot (although the extreme character of the offer remains happily intact), “Teethed Glory and Injury” is the jump beyond the hedge of a creature at the top of creativity and inspiration, but whose organism is already undermined by the spreading of a disease, of those internal conflicts that will decree its end: a leap towards the stars, the flight of an entity lost in a vertiginous impossibility, the premise for a disastrous fall then not even vaguely conceivable.

In hindsight, there will thus be the impression that James Kelly - voice, guitar, keyboards, and main composer - moved one step ahead of his mates, who seem on more than one occasion to struggle to keep up with his refined artistic vision. But it is probably this underlying imperfection, dictated by an incomplete alignment of intentions among the band members (Dave Condon on bass does what he can; Johnny King on drums sometimes appears to struggle to achieve a dignified synthesis between canonical outbursts and a more avant-garde interpretation of his instrument), this lack of shared sensitivity, as it was said, gives the product an unhealthy aura, a sense of imbalance, of irrationality, as if the situation, potentially out of control, should derail at any moment from the tracks laid out by Kelly's brilliant songwriting, from his tearing howl (of depressive origin), from the schizoid progress of the tracks. It is evident, moreover, the persisting essentially critical view towards the Today, a vision that goes beyond the already seen ecology-themed message and broadens to embrace the human, the sphere of interpersonal relationships and the themes of social alienation.

With the introduction of “Mills,” the orchestra of disquiet warms up (drum hits create a void around), until the blast beat of “God Alone” erupts in all its violence, even featuring a video clip that captures the concept caught on the cover: tight rhythms, beastly shouts, breath-taking moments of hiatus (the counter-times are heart-stopping) and even a vocoder chorus (ah, the vocoder in black metal...), foreshadowing the panicked ecstasy of a final crescendo portrayed at supersonic speed (because Kelly will prove to be a maestro at orchestrating harmonies, ever-changing melodic lines where multiple guitars coexist together and the offset sounds of a keyboard, often doubled by clean vocals). All in just four and a half minutes, as if to preempt the band's new modus operandi.

“A Body Shrouded” starts over, with its skewed, very Slint-like pace, it will take a few minutes before being engulfed again by speed. Indeed, the tracks love to linger on substantial instrumental portions, usually placed at the beginning or end (like the beautiful post-rock explosion at the end of “Burnt Year”), constantly subverting the song format. Kudos to Kelly for developing a narrative capable of avoiding drops in tension and attention, a direction that appears credible both in the more intricate episodes (“A Remedy and a Fever,” a Swans-like nightmare lasting nine minutes; the concluding “A Reflection Pulse Remains,” strong of that desperation that makes it the closest moment to the band’s past), and when they choose to firmly press the accelerator (or at least not to renounce the typical ferocity of the genre, as well documented by the fearsome triptych composed of “Twelve Was Ruin,” “Scald Scar of Water,” and “Found, Oval and Final,” in which noise-rock fury, the tragic and epic intensity of the most feral black metal, and suffocating slowdowns worthy of the most ominous Asphyx alternate seamlessly).

The Altar of Plagues thus throw in the post-black metal cauldron cultured references like Slint and Swans, distinguishing themselves on one side, and on the other earning a place of honor alongside those who in recent years have been able to revitalize a genre such as black metal, which seemed to be temporally relegated, without appeal, to the nineties decade, and which instead today, thanks to names like Agalloch, Wolves in the Throne Room, Alcest, Deathspell Omega, and many others, ends up representing one of the most fruitful, creative, and exciting strands of the current metallic panorama.