Antimatter
Fear Of A Unique Identity

In hushed tones.

This small dreary album was released without any fanfare. 

After all, in a year dense with imposing and historic releases (the return of GY!BE and Dead Can Dance, the new ambitious creation born of Michael Gira’s genius, yet another punch in the teeth from Converge...) it was inevitable that an album like this, so humble, so modest, would go unnoticed.

Probably complicit, also, is the skepticism of some long-time fans of the (now one-man) band, not too enthusiastic about the new sound put together following Duncan Patterson's departure (soul of Anathema in the immortal Eternity-Alternative 4 diptych, which is arguably the qualitative peak of their career).

Already the previous "Leaving Eden" saw only Mick Moss, an Irishman with a powerful voice, taking care of the songwriting with a very different attitude from that of the multifaceted founder. The various instrumental digressions, the ambient moods, and that gothic-flavored trip-hop that had enchanted listeners up until "Planetary Confinement" (an album that, however, already hinted at the almost singer-songwriter turn of what would remain of Antimatter) had disappeared in favor of the more classic song form.

Antimatter aligned with the array of alternative rock bands with decadent shades whereby: massive presence of electric guitars supported by a carpet of keyboards functional to rendering that dark and melancholic atmosphere which has always been their trademark and Moss's voice as the absolute protagonist. The more energetic tracks alternated with delicate and touching ballads in which the singer accompanied himself with the acoustic guitar, also increasingly present since the 2005 work.

This "Fear Of A Unique Identity" stands more or less on the same stylistic coordinates as "Leaving Eden" and therefore the first (and perhaps only) flaw I would attribute to it is that sensation of déjà vu, of more of the same that leaves at first impact. And which undoubtedly can disappoint.

Crystal-clear production, not a blemish, not an imperfection, but perhaps for this very reason it's hard to shake off that not entirely pleasant impression of having a craftwork album in your hands.

But if you have patience and time, and I would add if you are at least moderately weather-sensitive (in the broadest sense of the term) like myself, you will find something more than just a craftwork album. Yes, because "Fear Of A Unique Identity" is still profoundly Antimatter, it is always an assurance of deep melancholy in musical form.

In short, the ideal kit to enjoy Moss's new delivery is: an incredibly bad day (at worst dotted with suicidal thoughts), lots of rain, and more than one glass of a spirit of your choice.

And the album will transform.

One might argue by saying that, in reality, it's always the same old tune... But at certain moments - THOSE moments - there's nothing better than the same old tune, especially if it bears the still very recognizable Antimatter brand, not altered after all these years and numerous changes. 

If you do not expect innovation, evolution, over time this album will pleasantly surprise you, and you will find yourself humming it almost against your own will.

You will realize that in the end, Moss, even if he doesn't dare as Patterson does (who in my opinion would do better to return to Antimatter rather than devote himself to a questionable project like "Alternative 4"), still cuts quite a figure in hitting that groovy bass line you wouldn't expect and the effective and (almost) never banal chorus that won't leave you, but also in giving new prominence to the electronic inserts which now have a decidedly more darkwave edge than before.

Last but not least, the simple yet always disarming lyrics once again prove themselves very suitable for expressing the discomfort of the solitary man who is forced against his will to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and engage in a titanic struggle with the masses to prevent the flattening of his own identity. 

Highlights: "Paranova," the spirited and vigorous opener; "Monochrome," where we witness an impassioned duet between Moss's voice and the sweet voice of guest Vic Anselmo (a female presence that enriches every moment of the album in which she appears); "Firewalking" for its (slightly) oppressive and stretched atmosphere and for the use of the vocoder that takes your breath away and shreds your soul to pieces. The least successful episode, however, is "Uniformed and Black," a simple and anonymous track that flirts quite a bit with the latest Katatonia but fails to match their quality.

For anyone glad that the Cavanaugh brothers are happy and have found their current dimension in celebrating love but still crave a pinch of that old-school melancholy that made us fall in love with Anathema... there is this "Fear Of A Unique Identity." Because beyond any other influence, Moss's shadowy alternative rock is primarily influenced by the "English cousins" when they sang of the darkest hours and bitterest disappointments of human beings.

For fans who still let themselves be deluded, for the nostalgic who would like Anathema to still be depressed but settle for the current Antimatter.

All others abstain because they risk being overwhelmed by boredom.

Three and a half stars rounded up to four because, damn it, if listened to with the aforementioned kit, it is absolutely remarkable.