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Rating: The world and the dystopian society envisioned by Fritz Lang have come to fruition. In the mechanization of man, Orwellian control has found its full realization. The ruins of an already disintegrated reality stain even the most hopeful glimpses. Man is lost, time slips away, and the barrenness amidst the mechanisms of the metropolis closes off every possibility of a brighter future. The gaze is aimed at the horizon but, as Camus would say in "The Stranger," it stops between the sea, the sand, the sun, the double silence of the flute and the water, staring without lowering its eyes, aware (here I take poetic license from good Albert) of its own helpless human condition. The sunset arrives relentlessly and is fervently desired. Shadows devour spaces that were already dark in the daylight. Gusts of wind play tag among the degraded tunnels and alleys of an industrial city. The climate grows increasingly biting, and the cold touches the cheeks, drying an already torn soul. In the night, however, a brilliant element appears that fascinates and makes one forget the oppressive pulse of Metropolis that weighs heavily on the neck. The eyes remain mesmerized, gazing at the starry sky. The stars, so bright and radiant, so distant, so enchanting as to completely capture every drop of sanity and allow man to begin imagining his ancient self as an explorer once again. There is only one possibility to escape the repetitive universe of Metropolis, and the solution lies in the unknown that watches over us. In the vastness of space and the stars. The present is dying, and the future must be sought where there is no certainty. Travelers who know no reassurances and limits, but are aware of the need to distance themselves as far as possible from the robotic automatons that have sucked every life essence on Earth. This is "Mariner". This is the concept with which the Cult of Luna return to the scene, but it is not just the Swedish band that finds space on stage; there is also a singer named Julie Christmas, who will support and guide the spacecraft ready to get lost and wander in the remotest galaxies.
The launch is about to occur, and the best way to face "Mariner" is to lose oneself in the imposing structures that envelop the 55 minutes of space odyssey, a term not used by chance, as Johannes Persson has repeatedly stated that in seeking out certain artistic solutions present here, he was inspired by the good Stanley Kubrick. The feelings experienced, indeed, have a cinematic flavor. From "A Greater Call," one gets the impression of progressively departing from the sounds of "Vertikal," which, in their edgy claustrophobia, slowly disappear, thus leaving room for an executive fluidity that suggests floating with one's body before the opening of infinite lunar landscapes and unknown planets. A kaleidoscopic journey where the shape-shifting is amplified by the schizophrenic personality of Christmas, who is not only present as a special guest but masterfully directs the moods and colors that "Mariner" aims to bring out. Navigating the abyss of constellations can reveal unforeseen scenarios, not just the wonder and relief of distancing from Metropolis. In this, Christmas, having full freedom at the level of lyrics and vocal choices, rises to the challenge and showcases her vocal range in perfect harmony with the sound suites that Cult of Luna meticulously weave. There is the hushed dreamy stroke, there is the mysterious whisper, there is a malevolent shout, there is uncontrollable hysteria, there is a liberating scream. There is, in short, versatility that, at times, counterbalances the turbulent growl of Johannes.
Iridescent is the epic that Cult of Luna paints sonically. The soul of the Swedes decomposes before the boundless expanses. It is a whirlwind where alternative realities are traversed, each with its own peculiarity. The explosion of asteroids shows the granitic post-metal, rough yet so atmospheric. Yes, atmosphere. The core principle on which the sound of the guys from Umea is anchored. "Mariner" positions them within a convoluted experience, showing their ability to develop completely opposite scenarios from one another within the span of a few minutes. The script and sets that are built gradually come into contact and clash in a flow where everything holds the right balance. A stratification that comes to life, satellite after satellite, to illustrate the complexity of an exploration so desperate yet at the same time enchanting. Cult of Luna has its own elegance that in "Mariner" finds further enhancement in the vocal abilities of Julie Christmas. In the prism that this concept reveals itself to be, one is immersed and buried by the shroud of an unknown nebula, rather than a space storm that plunges the spacecraft into unknown lands. The ethereal cosmos that slowly unfolds and embraces the tiny man can become a disquieting emblem of loneliness, or the infinite silence causes the breath to slow and remain immobile, stupefied before the incomprehensible. These are just some of the visions that find fulfillment between the guitars that recall the post-rock spirit of Cult of Luna or the ambient that, under the surface, allows the pachydermic sludge and doom riffs to swiftly enter cryogenics. A dense undergrowth of branches moves in unison, constantly seeking to characterize the monolith "Mariner" and succeeds excellently, amidst synths and keyboards that define Cult of Luna in post-modern mosaics.
The grand finale seems to play out on the opposing mirrors of "Approaching Transition" and "Cygnus," the former so melancholically apocalyptic in its walking with tentative and delicate steps, thanks to a Johannes who, with an echoed voice, whispers a rarefied calm, almost as if preparing for a new completion, rather, for a total abandonment of all that was and is, projecting, quivering, into a new dimension. The final escalation of "Mariner" indeed materializes in a triumphant display of blinding colors, with a spacecraft challenging the speed of light, entering a black hole that might catapult into the unknown. A mix between Kubrick and Nolan, in sum. An explosion that makes the protagonists of "Mariner" disappear, calming the tumultuous waves of the compositions by Cult of Luna, leaving only a beam of blinding white light. The void. Eternity. Everything fades, and the man who so investigated himself, his life, and the infinity surrounding him, finds himself swallowed without knowing what awaits. But for this, Cult of Luna will think about it later, if they want to, and we are left with "Mariner", the umpteenth testament of other pioneers, not of space, but of post-metal.
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