Nike's Original Run series assigns artists-- so far they've teamed with LCD Soundsystem, De La Soul, A-Trak, and Aesop Rock-- a daunting commission: create a singular piece of music to score a 50-minute jog, from warm-up to cool-down. Should Nike decide to add a metal track to its Original Run series, it needs look no further than United States Black Metal pioneers Absu. The group's first album in eight years, Absu, is an energizing sprint through black metal, bedrock thrash, symphonic flourishes, and arcane mythological references. All told, it's so intense that, by cool down, you might still be contemplating the first verse of that warm-up.
Indeed, layers of density define the record-- in sonics, in lyrics, in the completely triumphant, surprisingly melodic manner in which it merges the two. But first thing's first: Absu sounds perfect and immense, its cleanly recorded and carefully mixed presentation revealing the intricacy of Absu's ideas and the power of their musicianship. During "Nunbarshegunu", singer and drummer Proscriptor's percussion climaxes early before stretching his slowdown over a full minute, eventually settling into a mid-tempo trot. Bolstered by Absu's sleek sense of production, each hit sounds like an explosion. Multi-instrumentalists Zawicizuz and Aethyris-- making their debuts with Absu here-- offer similar élan and adventure.
Then there's the question of what Proscriptor is actually screaming, singing, and growling over the music. Last month, he described the album's content to Pitchfork's Brandon Stosuy as a mix of "Sumerian mythology, Mesopotamian cosmology, Goetia, numerology, and antiquated necromancy." In simpler terms, a post-script in the liner notes reads, "Absu arrogantly executes mythological occult metal... still." Essentially, Proscriptor welds together some of the oldest, if least-known, belief systems in the world, connecting them through parables and narratives that share a unifying desire for absolute power. "Nunbarshegunu", for instance, recalls a classic tale of Sumerian mythology in which one god rapes his potential bride, begetting Sin. Two tracks later, Proscriptor offers a doxology for Goetia, a sort of sorcery where the relationship of shapes and numbers connects one to extra-human powers.
The aim, then, isn't alien to that of many metal lineages, from Viking lore to Satanic advocacy. But the devices themselves represent a clear deviation from the hegemony of most black metal. Proscriptor does more than drop names he's seen in books or on Wikipedia. He combines figures and tales, mixing the narratives and merging the belief systems to argue for chaos in the place of common sense or wisdom. You could spend the rest of the year exploring the ideas and jargon here (Seriously: scimitars, mages, Ninik, afreets, cantrips, Nisir, planets colliding, veils, "combustion is ascendancy"), and this simple conclusion would likely remain: Proscriptor has a problem with power, but he needs more of it.
Of course, the first two factors wouldn't matter if Absu couldn't combine them into songs that compel and an album that coheres. They execute both rather brilliantly. Anyone can play heavy and scream obscure occult references, after all, but I'm suggesting a major corporate commission. There are big hooks on Absu, from the half-time stomp of the chorus in "Amy" to the infectious little bit about astral planes and Elder Ones during "...Of the Dead Who Never Rest in Their Tombs Are the Attendance of Familiar Spirits..." Speaking of that tune and being restless, Absu never sit still. "Dead" is a seven-minute epic in three parts, morphing from a relentless blast of black metal to a psychedelic synthesizer solo to a sinister farewell of strings and noise. Some songs have three choruses. Some have none.
The action comes in sustained waves, and each time it feels as if Absu's energy has peaked, the trio ratchets the intensity higher still. Four minutes into "Ye Uttuku Spells", for instance, Proscriptor bellows "Ye Absu rage" above a steady holding pattern. The proclamation is laughable in its redundancy, as Absu have done nothing if not rage for the prior 50 minutes. The last words of the album's last verse, they suggest a captain finally cracking as he leads his men into one last battle. And sure enough, Absu unleash behind Proscriptor's request, a piercing guitar solo peeling from the double-bass drum gallop and the tide of distortion in the middle. It's a perfect last stand, and an unabashedly arrogant close to an album that deserves nothing less.
