Oxbow
Thin Black Duke

THE REVIEW

I don't know: personally, I've always admired bands that love not to repeat themselves.

But I've also always detested bands that, in not repeating themselves, did something "too" much.

Not to mention those who end up doing too little of something else.

And then there are those that are no longer around or seem to have stopped: so you don't even consider the issue.

Then maybe you find out they were still around and actually have always been somewhere. But here.

Maybe slightly different, but if you listen carefully, you realize they are not different at all.

They are so clever as to give you the optical (auditory) illusion of "mutation" ("Cold & Well-Lit Place"), but then you sharpen your senses and realize it's just the color of the skin and/or armor
that is aging.
Remaining sinuous and shiny.
Gloomy. Almost feral ("Letter Of Note").

It is a natural process of defense and adaptation to the surrounding reality. And also the awareness of one's means and limitations.
It's no small feat.
But it is also a deadly strategy of attack: ("A Gentleman's Gentleman") those tense nerves, that stocky musculature, but above all the intellect remains the same.
Solid. Filthy. Vivid.

Little matters the lower frequency speed of limb flailing, the greater propensity for silent interstices, and the quantity of decibels hurled at the microphone.

There is always that pervasive feeling of unhealthy umbrality ("Ecce Homo").

But you recognize them. Immediately.
There's no escape.
Always different but always the same.
Always Them. And only them.

The Oxbow.
Exactly.