Tracklist:- Mountain
- Rising from the Abyss
- Final Years
- The Mist that Shrouds the Peaks
- Avaratia
- On the Steps of the Temple
Astride a dark boulder, black rain lashing the barren earth, the haggard traveller raises his gaze towards a sheer rock face which looms from the foot of the Mountain. A scene which might only be captured by the most skilful of lyricists; and yet one which rises, cold, dismal, and yet as animate as life, from the opening bars of the instrumental debut of Arizona duo, Temple. Combining the ferocity of the bestial with a penchant for intricate subtlety, the result is a daunting mix of black, death, and progressive metal sounds.
Even without the guide of lyrics, there’s a clear sense of
purpose to the music. Two themes
dominate throughout, the antithetical notions of height and depth, bringing
with them their own distinctive moods and sounds. The first of these is, perhaps, the most striking: in an obvious
sense, it is reflected in the titles of the first and forth tracks (Mountain,
and The Mist that Shrouds the Peaks, respectively); more generally, it is
conveyed through the use of imposing musical imagery, rising to present a
tyrannical vision of insurmountability.
On the one hand, these convey a prevailing sense of
enormity. Deep, guttural runs carve out
the colossal gulleys of the Mountain, while wailing guitars echo cavernously
overhead. And the dominating height of
the Peaks of track 4 reverberate with ponderous grandeur as squeals of feedback
echo through thick mists. But there is,
no less, a mood of inescapable, oppressive grandeur, as fierce drum lines and
harsh block chords and bass pound the embattled senses: tracks 2, 4, and 6
would all provide fine examples, but nowhere is it clearer than in the opener,
Mountain, where each brittle beat and deep thud falls as cold as the next.
Consistently, both melodic and harmonic lines feel
stunted, unresolved, and comfortless.
Amidst this despondency, occasionally calmer waters have the potential
to offer respite, most obviously in track 3, Final Years, an unusually brief
offering, of relatively warm, rich qualities.
Absent is the fear and chaos established by its predecessors. With drums and guitars alike considerably
stripped back, keys offer both softness and light while melodies, for the first
time, are altogether fuller than elsewhere.
Nonetheless, whatever relief this provides, it does not constitute a
lasting solution to the troubled tale: the delicate tremolos of Final Years
retain a brittle, rattling quality, and when they finally bloom into
unrestrained electric riffs, these remain cold and embittered.
None of this allays a constant awareness of dark, damp
depths, a suggestion of an unpleasant and unrelenting abyss unleashing unholy
secrets. As with its lofty antithesis
of height and majesty, this is reflected in certain track titles, including the
invitingly named Rising from the Abyss.
Both music and title convey the dominant message, that of impending
doom, as evil emerges from the depths.
In its course, the monster plods, as towards the end of track 2, when
languid yet assertive harmonies stride forward; and it slithers, as when, in
the shuddering finale and title track, melodies weave and, with no less alarm,
deep bass notes haul themselves ominously upwards.
Ironically for an instrumental album, brief instances of
spoken word may offer the best explanation of what this lurking evil,
clambering upwards, may be. These crop
up throughout the track Avaritia, in the form of cinematic vocal clips (it
would seem, though I don’t know the film…).
At the outset, a cracked voice with an acid twist lays out his moral
thesis towards personal wealth which, he contends, need not corrupt the bearer:
“The way I see it, gold can be as much of a blessing as a curse…”
Throughout the track, the music accommodates this verbose
novelty with extended sections of subdued textures, subdued and respectful
through their use of mellow guitar and bass sounds. Between these moments of placidity, however, the music boils in a
feverish rage: bass, snare, and cymbals crash relentlessly beneath an iron sky
unbroken but for the screeching guitars.
Beneath this storm, a story of financial ruin and moral decay unfolds,
concluding, amidst bleak but now calmer tones, with the confessions of the now
self-destroyed prospector: “I know what gold does to men’s souls.” But his fall leaves no relief from his
fever, and the dialogue ends with the words “I think I’ll go to sleep, dream of
piles of gold getting bigger and bigger and bigger…”
If the unquenchable thirst for wealth – and the
accompanying moral decay of humanity – lies as its central theme, On the Steps
of the Temple seems to weave it around a wider plotline which merges both the
ascent and corruption of man into one.
As the haggard voice of Avaritia would suggest, even the most ordinary
of people are led by the allure of prosperity.
And, starting as a journey from the foot of the Mountain, as the base
instincts of humanity haul themselves from the depths of the Abyss, this is
marked as a progression from lower to higher (inversely, it would seem, to the
accompanying story of moral progression).
The muffled claps of thunder and soft patter of rain which herald the arrival
of the final track themselves give way to soft tones of awe and wonder as the
traveller, standing On the Steps of the Temple, reaches the heights of nature
itself to gaze upon his final destination.
The prevailing sense of enormity – both through the epic
orchestration which would be expected in such genres of metal, but also, more
significantly, music which conveys a wider feeling of physical overbearing – is
visualised by the album’s superb cover art.
Portraying a mystical, brooding monument, this highlights a ready-made
metaphor in the band’s own name. And
beware the Temple: standing impassive astride the great heights of the world,
it promises much. But, drawing towards
it the helpless and the feeble, it is a shrine to darkness and despair; for
those who haul themselves up its mighty steps, breaking their boots, their
backs, and their morals on the path, are the same who first constructed its
mighty walls. A monument to the
depravity of greed, the temple could just as easily be a symbol of modernity,
which raises power and authority in palatial splendour, only to reveal its own
tyrannical designs.
On the Steps of the Temple is an draining experience for
the listener, pummelling the senses with it’s turbulent and enormous
soundscape. Astonishingly expressive
and vast in scope, however, it is a worthy example of that elusive rarity: a
genuinely complete album. But for the
eerie mumblings of the wretched avarice, it weaves textures which speak without
words, mapping the descent of man into the heavens above him, a cautionary tale
for those foolish enough to surrender themselves to the temptations of greed.
Production: 5/5
Originality: 4/5
Album Cohesion: 5/5
Music: 8/10
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