Wolves in the Throne Room
Celestite

The fact that the much-anticipated latest album by WITTR would be an instrumental work, aimed at developing melodic lines present in their last true full-length "Celestial Lineage," had stirred more than a bit of skepticism in me. Considering then those rumors (later denied – thankfully) of a possible disbanding of the band, it was not out of the question to jump to the conclusion: are the Wolves running out of ideas?

I don't want to exaggerate, but I believe that today WITTR are the most important band in the black-metal scene. If today the genre is back in the spotlight, after years when it wasn't talked about anymore, it's mainly because WITTR started making music: the trilogy "Two Hunters"-"Black Cascade"-"Celestial Lineage" stands as proof. Could we really settle for a mere appendix to their previous work?

The plain and simple fact is that “Celestite” is a beautiful album. Forget the ambient of the Count or the awkwardness of any other black-metal musician dabbling, amateurishly, in the world of synthesizers. The Weaver brothers' approach closely resembles, in intensity and sound textures, the kosmische musik of Tangerine Dream, Klaus Schulze, and Popol Vuh (always cited as a source of inspiration for the band), reaching peaks of "sacredness" unimaginable for musicians from a metal background (goodness me, those vibrant organs projected into deep space; that unsettling pulsation of a universe on the brink of collapse; those sudden gateways opening into other dimensions). Without, however, dispensing with the intervention of electric guitars, with results not far from what Sunn O))) and Ulver achieved in the recent “Terrestrials”.

Poised between cosmic music and drone-music, with some Floydian suggestions scattered here and there, “Celestite” comprises five long tracks with undeniably cinematic allure: a slow evolution of settings that seamlessly transition from phases of ecstatic contemplation to more tense moments. The drama of tremendous forces clashing within the framework of a higher harmony is what the ever eco-friendly WITTR want to depict.

In the span of these forty-seven minutes, entire geological eras condense, space and time are nullified in the majesty of the Cosmos's dance, in the imposing whirl of immense nebulae, in the disintegration of celestial bodies, in the release of unknown and unmeasurable energies: a pretentious sound tending to the Universal, continually recalling the visionary art of a Malick lost in the cosmic chasms of his “The Tree of Life.” This music has something unsettling, and it is the unease felt in the face of absolutely “Other” dynamics, completely alien to Man (the duo's intention was indeed to minimize the human element in their music as much as possible).

Aided by Timm Mason (synthesizers) and especially by the skillful hand of producer Randall Dunn (Sunn O))), Earth), Aaron and Nathan, armed with guitars and synthesizers, build imposing soundscapes, where the dominance is that of an analog electronic tastefully vintage (pushing into that liquid border territory where cosmic music still retained some contact points with progressive rock). Supporting them are the brass of Steve Moore and Josiah Boothby (and it’s indeed where these intervene that the award-winning partnership Sunn O)))/Ulver comes to mind) and the sinuous flutes of Mara Winter and Veronica Dye, serving a dense, substantial sound matter, made of the fury of the elements.

From this impressive succession of catastrophic yet at the same time wonderful visions (a furious struggle that actually transcends concepts such as Life and Death, rather ascending to a status of perpetual Transformation), several themes from “Celestial Lineage” emerge, without occupying the entire scene, carving out moments of remarkable intensity, recalling the main work in its most engaging moments.

The impression, in the end, is that although stripped of Aaron's inhuman screams and vitriolic riffing, and Nathan's inspired drumming, the music of the American combo is driven by the same spirit as always. Sure, the ferocious language of black-metal is no longer spoken, but despite this, “Celestite” sounds 100% Wolves in the Throne Room: what emerges is that subcutaneous component that previously feverishly traversed the band's art through underground channels, sneaking beneath the hard metal shell, and now unfolds in all its titanic splendor. In “Celestite,” WITTR seems to want to sever their terrestrial roots definitively, dematerializing like dust in the vastness of the Cosmos, as silent witnesses of untellable events.

Immense.