When you have bands – nay, phenomena – like Mogwai and Sigur Ros laying claim to an entire genre with such notable and expansive swathes of sonic majesty, it’s all too tempting to think that as far as the ear can see, right up to the figurative horizon, there’s not a single acre up for rent. If one group has begged to differ since the turn of the century, causing ripples in the volcanic crust such as to create new land for them to inhabit, it has been durable Texan 4-piece Explosions In The Sky. And judging by recent activity (selling out sizable venues in London, voted headliner of ATP vs. The Fans) many are massing to their flag and setting up camp on the foothills. They have thus far taken a middle ground, not quite going as far as Sigur Ros’ ethereal, mysterious peaks, nor evoking the deepest, bloodshot characteristics of Mogwai, but rather creaming influence from both and spinning it out with a constantly extraordinary attention to detail.
With this, their fourth full-length album, the established order of this new republic remains in place; precision is all, there is such careful, considered arrangement of sound, delicacy handled with the same care as crushing flashes of noise, songs are assembled and dismantled methodically, instruments weave in and out of each others’ territory, leaving traces of their presence like paranormal sprites laying claim to a corridor or ballroom.
But if there is a difference with this record, and there always is a subtle one with each passing album, then it feels more organic than perhaps they previously have, songs are left to flower without the same level of artificial intervention, it is not as brutally efficient, because life left to its own device is not. Ergo, the album does lack some of the immediate impact of previous works, particularly ‘Those Who Tell The Truth…’, but that can only be a major issue for short term residents and diminutive attention spans, neither of which receive much sympathy within these borders anyway.
And the album really does reward in due course. It deals in quietly hatching embryos of sound, emotions unfolding in real time. The 13 minute centre-piece ‘It’s Natural To Be Afraid’ makes use of its every last second to evolve, ebb and flow, lolling pleasurably in the softness of the echoing melodies and makes more of an impact in the end by refusing to go unnecessarily overboard. That’s not to say that they don’t still have the ability to scythe through the hairs in your ear canal – take the launch point of ‘The Birth & Death Of The Day’ at the 4 minute 35 second mark, which erupts like an explosion sucked through a vacuum, drums flailing ten to the dozen and then some, with military discipline, sharing qualities with local peers …Trail of Dead. You don’t necessarily have to shout the loudest to be heard the clearest, which makes this a very impressive argument.