I approached listening to the new Gojira album with great caution, almost with distrust. Not because I expected a sudden drop from the French cousins, but because the reviews I read in the days leading up to its release were strongly conflicting: they ranged from enthusiastic tones of relatively superficial reviews (in the opinion of the writer) to outright rejections. Among them, some went as far as to call it "a Black Album-like turning point." In such cases, there's not much to do: headphones on and periodic clicks on the "repeat" button.
It doesn't take many listens to understand the reasons for this split in the world of music criticism: the shift has happened, and not everyone will like it. The death metal influences have almost entirely disappeared, the songs are shorter, the composition has become more direct, linear, at times very repetitive. Emotion prevails over technicalities, doom over thrash, and clean vocals surpass in quantity and intensity the fierce screams we were accustomed to. But, beware, what was just said does not make "Magma" an "easy listening" record; it is not a commercial album, far from it, it is a heavy piece of granite that needs to be dug deep with all the difficulties that come with it.
I believe the stylistic shift was planned by the members of the group, but it became even more necessary after the grave loss that affected the Duplantier brothers: the death of their mother, whose ethereal presence heavily influences the album from the very first track. "The Shooting Star" seems indeed an invocation to the deceased mother, a search for a bridge cast between the world of the living and the world of the dead ("when you get the other side / please send a sign"). The rhythms are slow, measured, obsessive, and the voice, clean and filtered, truly seems to speak to the afterlife. They aim for the heart more than the head, and the target is hit. "Silvera," one of the singles (accompanied by an excellent video) that anticipated the album, presents Gojira still in their old post-thrash guise. The piece is indeed based on sharp riffs in the style of Machine Head, and the voice returns aggressive; it is an excellent piece, enriched by an oriental-sounding refrain, a hypnotic chant that invites instead to a collective awakening: "time to open your eyes to this genocide...when you change yourself you change the world."
Sometimes I like to write my impressions and then compare them with those of industry experts. Well, in this case, what for others is the strength of the album, to my ears sounds like the lowest point. Indeed, it is followed by two heavy and angry pieces ("The Cell" and "Stranded," the latter released as a single), lauded by critics, which I instead found boring and predictable, like many others out there. I expect more from Gojira, and that "more" comes soon after. The album is almost split in half by a short instrumental piece, "Yellow Stone," a sort of cross between Black Sabbath and Metallica's "Pulling Teeth," which has the merit of introducing what we once would have called "the B side" of the album, the best part of "Magma," a crescendo of intensity and emotions. The title track, the longest and most elaborate song on the album, recalls the sensations hinted at in "The Shooting Star." "Magma" is a wall of intense and melancholic melodies, against which stands a very distinctive guitar, acidic and abrasive, one you either love or hate. It is an ascent from the center of the earth, driven by a more aggressive central part, a monolithic riff accompanied by vocals still seeking contact with the afterlife: "Just want to fly away, always higher / Embrace the light on the other side." It is followed by two pieces with an industrial flavor: "Pray" and "Only Pain." The first one is especially interesting, a solemn and suffocating prayer, alternating tribal rhythms and metallic outbursts, and where the work of Mario Duplantier behind the drums particularly stands out. "Only Pain" moves along the same lines, with more anger, but something seems missing, the bite doesn't leave a mark.
Then it comes to what, although not numerically the last piece of the album, in my opinion, marks the end and beginning of the circle, as well as the highest point reached by the band in this work. The magma has erupted, the séance is ending, the contact has been established (Tell me what you see / in the afterlife...You're invisible / you're in everything). "Low Lands" is indeed the piece where the climax reaches its peak. The ascent is over, the voice stands out on a hypnotic sound wall, and now seems to find peace, a melancholic but consoling peace. Following the scheme that characterizes the entire album, the song grows in intensity, the riffing becomes heavy, and the voice screams again. Then a moment of emptiness and an acoustic, dreamy finale, the calm after the storm. It would have been the perfect ending, the continuous ascent, the contact, the discovery, and the tranquil descent. But, a questionable choice, Gojira decided to close the album with "Liberation," an avoidable live-recorded acoustic instrumental.
In conclusion, "Magma" is an excellent album with some weak points. It is not a masterpiece, it is not the best album of the French band, it may even be disliked, yet I find it hard to understand certain criticisms. Gojira has chosen a more direct approach that has nothing commercial about it. The limited presence of technical virtuosity and the shorter average duration of the pieces do not make this record immediately absorbable. It is a dark work; it will require numerous listens to fully assimilate it. Once chipped, the black monolith might capture you and never let you go.
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