Ashbringer
Absolution

When September begins, you notice it from small things: there's no need to look at a calendar or check the date somewhere, it's a feeling you have almost on your skin, a sort of awakening from the inertia and heat of summer which had lulled you to sleep until then.
Autumn months, the ones that are about to start, are months of change, but you can already feel their presence. Days when nature surprises you one last time with its most beautiful colors, showcasing a warmth you wouldn't have expected, seems to live with greater strength than the supposedly overwhelming one that had impressed you in previous months. It's a delicate caress, made of shadows that grow longer under reddish sunsets, of evenings where the breeze shakes the treetops, where you start to feel the need for a shirt or a light jacket, where the rays of the sunset light up the leaves which become more yellow day after day. They are magical, nostalgic, melancholic, beautiful days; the air is crisp and energetic, and even when it rains, even when you wake up and the fog covers the roofs, deep down it's not so bad.
With this mindset, I met up with a dear old friend, a schoolmate, someone with whom I spent at least three important years, years in which we grew, became "adults", years in which we faced our first real challenges, and knowing that a person like you was nearby, who could understand and help you even with just a word, gave you strength and courage. Then it happens that as you grow, you take one path, and the people you spent so much time with disappear: not out of malice, they simply take another path at one of life's many crossroads. And yet, while you walk, sometimes through dense woods, other times in the middle of open fields, you always see your friend in the distance, also intent on navigating challenges that are, in the end, not dissimilar from yours. Then, as I said, purely by chance, after years, you contact him one day, and you decide to meet up for a beer or two, and it seems not even a second has passed since graduation. And I think that a mindset inclined to evoke memories, to reconciliation, to discussion with friends, to understanding, to that pat on the back that you have missed so far, are all born from a melancholic yet positive season that is about to begin, like autumn. And so, between beers, you talk about school memories, trips, present, past, and future loves, old video games, life and death, passions recovered and passed down, lost and regained moments; you talk of beer, the small joys of life, new homes, social conventions, and mental cages, and the hours fly by without you realizing it. And when you say goodbye, you do so with a promise to meet again soon, maybe at the new house, to have a few beers on the terrace, losing yourself in the view of the oak leaves you have in the garden.
What are the connections between autumn, seeing a dear friend again, and the music of Ashbringer? I don't know for sure, but instinctively, after saying goodbye to my friend and putting on "Absolution," I felt a common thread slowly linking all my memories, my past, and my hopes. And once again, I found myself recognizing the value of the Minneapolis band's offer, which doesn’t revolutionize what was done with the previous "Yugen," following those autumnal, melancholic, and sweet coordinates, resulting in an album perhaps a bit less passionate than the previous one, when viewed in its entirety, but certainly of excellent craftsmanship. An atmospheric black metal never too fast or fierce, with naturalistic and "wild" references dear to the "Cascadian" school, imbued with folk touches and post-rock progressions, a sound palette with predominant autumn colors, thus giving ample space to instrumental digressions, "post" progressions, riffs with a consolatory and reassuring flavor.
This is the period during which "Absolution" should be listened to; it should be given time, allowed to settle, and revisited later so it can grow and speak with its true voice. It's an honest album, one that gradually wins you over, that needs to be understood and allowed to speak, that should be looked in the eye and listened to like a friend you haven’t seen for a long time, but who you know deep down is speaking your language, and who, despite a different voice, perhaps more mature, and a grown and maybe gruff look, still hides a soul not so dissimilar from yours.