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Despite the name (Lantlôs = homeless) and the semi-black origins far from appealing, it seems that Markus Siegenhort, the sole mind behind the band in question, has finally found his way home.
In a way, those who saw in the previous Agape (2011) a seed as fragile as it was wonderful, as well as a harbinger of who knows what other insights within the fertile post-black field, might find themselves somewhat disappointed by the abrupt and unjustified stylistic shift of the Lantlôs entity; a situation markedly different from that of their French cousins Alcest, destined instead, with the recent Shelter, to strip down (or rather, dilute) their sound in favor of a dream-pop that I find insipid and lacking in ideas. But the declaration of intent from the German Markus, starting with the farewell of the still talented Neige at the microphone (disproving those who thought of Lantlôs as "that other band of Neige"), seems to have been the result of sudden urgency, as well as genuine awareness: "this band is mine, I set the few rules, and since I'm tired of black metal, its pervasive negativity and teenage angst, I want to lie down in a nice forest, smoke a bit of weed, hang out with friends and, I don't know, do whatever comes to mind." (His words.)
The result is, in every sense, a splendor. Not only are comparisons with Alcest inappropriate, although in both cases there has been a departure from metal tout court; but some have even dared to compare Melting Sun to Deafheaven, purely because of the fragrant colors on the cover and the sun featured in the title. In Alcest's case, it is the heaviness of the sounds that makes a big difference, in addition to far more creative songwriting, but in the second case, we are completely off track (and continent), considering that in this masterpiece (feel free to turn up your nose, but for me it is) there's no trace of certain teen angst, furious blast beats, nor unintelligible screams - be careful not to misunderstand me, I adore Deafheaven, whatever the scornful black metal community might say.
For those who followed the band live on their personal page, the gestation of this Melting Sun, released this year in May, was quite troubled: recorded and announced less than a year after Agape, the release date and all the album details were postponed over and over again for more than a year, losing time among a decent solo project of little interest (LowCityRain, a sort of 80s synth-dark-pop outlet) and various fooling around. The explanation came somewhat late: Markus, being dissatisfied with the mixing, rolled up his sleeves to fine-tune the sounds in detail and give more depth to his creation. This was evident to me at the (fateful) moment of listening to the preview track, Melting Sun I: Azure Chimes, presented in February: plenty of layering, sparkling guitars, imposing yet enveloping distortions, elegant instrumental digressions. And lots and lots of melody.
The farewell to "extreme" solutions seems definitive. The pitch-black emptiness of previous records has been replaced by a thousand reassuring colors (as the song subtitles suggest); the blackish explosions have turned into warm strokes of post-metal-rock-whatever; but above all, Neige's scream has been dethroned by the expressive, albeit still unripe, voice of Herr Siegenhort. For some, it's been a loss of identity. For the writer, it's an important milestone, a mature work that boasts an audacious songwriting, an uncommon attention to detail, and also a fundamental ingenuousness that makes all this a sincere, credible choice. And the stylistic figure has remained virtually unchanged; far from a loss of identity.
The aforementioned introduction of Melting Sun I has immediately become one of the tracks of the year: placid and euphoric at the same time, in the first half it builds on an engaging song form but from the fourth minute, out of the blue, it plunges into a downright driving instrumental tail (the ghost of Isis surfaces here), finally dematerializing into an orgasmic shoegaze wall. This track alone would suffice to silence all skeptics convinced that music must inherently be original to be moving.
Melting Sun II: Cherry Quartz seems to want to gently lull us during the first minute, but the metal muscles will soon make their presence felt, intoxicating the air and reminding us that while Lantlôs may have become a bit frou-frou, at peace with the world and so on, they haven't forgotten their male attributes up in the attic (got it, Neige?). The track, like the rest of the album, is shifting, imposing, alive; it's difficult to catch all its nuances with just a couple of listens. After a second instrumental digression littered with whispers, rustles, and a delightful solo, the wave of distortions erupts again, just softened by Markus' clean vocals. Sure, his somewhat nasal voice (in higher tones it reminds me of a certain Aaron Turner) may not be the pinnacle of technique and occasionally seems to falter, but overall it does its job well and adds value to an album primarily instrumental, where textures are its true strength. The visionary lyrics, for their part, are written impulsively without paying too much attention to complete meanings, sealing the absolute spontaneity of the music.
Melting Sun III: Aquamarine Towers, perhaps the one that has grown the most with listens, is opened in fade-in by a long hypnotic arpeggio and enriched each time by ecstatic choirs, keyboards, and a touch of psychedelia, along with a powerful but always adapted rhythm section to the album's placid tones. Few are the words spoken by the now profound voice of Markus: "I've seen you, I've been through the sun."; the track dissolves then in a protean, undulating, wonderful flow, and in its eight minutes (it deserves many more) it seems to stretch infinitely towards a far-off catharsis, never reached. The rapture is total.
It's up to Melting Sun IV: Jade Fields to conclude the album's more metallic part, and the catharsis arrives indeed: celestial atmospheres and indistinct children's voices are followed by monochrome, ultra-dropped riffing, while the vocals + counter-vocals of Markus and company are cut off by a final instrumental outburst where the guitars roar and dominate over a crazed drum. The last solo, with a chilling epicness, brings down the curtain, fading into the mysterious intermission of Melting Sun V: Oneironaut, which for a few minutes will ferry us into the fog, towards the abysses of our (un)consciousness...
...And here, every time the expanded arpeggios of Melting Sun VI: Golden Mind burst in, I have a minor heart attack because it seems no less than his majesty Robin Guthrie has entered the studio. But Lantlôs remains on the display, the Cocteau Twins (sigh!) have not resurrected, and doubts are completely dispelled when it is always Markus, not Fraser, who laconically intones this ethereal lullaby to the power of. The coordinates are thus those of a pure dream-pop/shoegaze, in the vein of the latest Alcest, but class is not mere water, and indeed what we are swimming in is the maternal womb.
Markus rewinds again, relives the child crystallized in memory, drinks the golden nectar, and inhales the purple fumes of who knows what fantastic world: the theme of the most remote childhood emerges again, but now there is no space for the shroud of unease that covered Agape. Melting Sun VI: Golden Mind closes with the same noise with which Intrauterin opened the previous album, an orgy of feedback no longer a harbinger of suffering, but absolute ecstasy, blinding light, and the overwhelming zenith of this sun that burns the mind and melts the heart, taking us for a moment to a place unknown and at the same time so familiar.
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