Think of Cynic as an expatriate from the land of extreme metal. As with other restless-spirit heavy outfits from Nachtmystium to Mastodon, you can still detect an original accent in the work of this L.A.-via-Miami band; but at this stage, they're speaking a whole other language-- call it pop-savvy prog. And on Carbon-Based Anatomy, Cynic's second EP since an outstanding 2008 reunion full-length, Traced in Air, they're communicating with remarkable fluency.
Cynic's roots stretch back to the fertile early-1990s Florida death-metal scene. Before issuing their own proper debut, the band's co-leaders, guitarist-vocalist Paul Masvidal and drummer Sean Reinert, scored a high-profile freelance gig, backing Death leader Chuck Schuldiner on Human. The concise title of that 1991 classic belies its groundbreaking blend of ferocity and technicality-- not to mention its inescapable influence on the next two decades of chops-happy extreme metal. (A great-sounding reissue is out on Relapse if you're curious.) The pair quickly jumped ship, though, and got to work on its own definitive statement, 1993's rich, puzzling Focus. Even on this first LP, Cynic seemed to regard metal like a vestigial tail. Guest vocalist Tony Teegarden contributed anguished, growling vocals that recalled Schuldiner's, but Masvidal augmented his lines with a pre-Auto-Tune robot speak. And while the band indulged in outbursts of hard-hitting shred, they avoided death metal's signature blastbeats outright, favoring supple rhythms drawn straight from the jazz-fusion playbook.
If Focus had an ugly-duckling appeal, Cynic's hybrid experiment didn't pay off fully until Traced in Air, which followed a 15-year hiatus. The comeback effort pushed metal even further into the background in favor of an increased melodicism; suddenly Cynic seemed like a new standard bearer for 21st-century art rock, flooring you with their technicality while mashing on all your bliss buttons. The record took what it needed from extreme metal (growled backing vocals), fusion (tricky turnarounds and ornate solos), and pop (open-hearted hooks). This was a band unmoored from genre but not adrift: The songs were pointing the way, rather than any regard for a clearly definable style. Underscoring that point, the band followed Traced in Air with 2010's Re-Traced, an EP that adapted four of the full-length's tunes in a calmer style, with the metal-- and, for the most part, rock-- siphoned out in favor of folky pop and electronica. It was a startling move, but the material held up.
Carbon-Based Anatomy, consisting of all-new material, is more substantial than Re-Traced, the next best thing to a new LP. A 23-minute suite of six continuous tracks, the EP restores the band's aggressive side but only in measured doses. The three proper songs here-- presented along with a trio of soundscapey mood setters-- are easily Cynic's most accessible to date, favoring straightforward verse-chorus anthems and ditching the death-metal-styled vocals outright. Yet they're also some of the band's strongest, further proof that Masvidal and Reinert's core ideas are sturdy enough to withstand drastic shifts in style.
The title track is a perfectly paced stunner. A sensuous, tribal-y verse (which finds Reinert locking in with Focus-era Cynic bassist Sean Malone, who guests on the EP) alternates with a placid guitar-and-voice passage, mapping out the piece's sing-songy motifs. After a dreamy fusion interlude, the aggression ramps up: Masvidal solos triumphantly, and the band kicks into a stomping, crunchy climax, over which Masvidal recasts the earlier guitar-voice melody as a yearning anthem. Usually not one to present his vocals undisguised, he sings sans effects here and achieves a new emotional directness. The track lasts more than six minutes, but it feels trim, even radio-ready. It's fitting that Masvidal sings about transcending the body ("Drop the knife/ Leave your arms behind/ Just for a moment"); on a piece like this, Cynic sounds fully liberated, not just from their metal past but from any aesthetic concern other than assembling a great song.
Carbon-Based Anatomy might be relatively conventional, but thanks to Masvidal and Reinert's idiosyncratic virtuosity, it doesn't come off as bland. Masvidal shines on the EP's two other core tracks, "Box Up My Bones" and "Elves Beam Out". On the former-- like the title track, a catchy, profoundly dynamic mini opus-- the guitarist whooshes in during a mid-song breather, playing a gorgeous series of notey trills and demonstrating how he's re-purposed his metal-honed chops in the service of pure textural beauty. In "Elves Beam Out", a strange, dazzling little song, he connects the dots between John Lennon and Yes' Steve Howe, moving from gloomy, "I Want You (She's So Heavy)"-style riffage to feverishly grandiose filigree. Throughout the release, Reinert deftly balances ornament with groove. On the "Carbon-Based Anatomy" verse, he peppers his beat with a flurry of tasty tom and snare accents, while on the "Elves Beam Out" chorus, he blends brisk bass-drum stutters and half-time cymbal accents into an infectious stop-start pattern.
Carbon-Based Anatomy's three remaining tracks-- bookends "Amidst the Goals" and "Hieroglyph", which feature chanting and narration from singer-songwriter Amy Correia, and mid-EP breather "Bija!"-- set aside chops in favor of atmosphere. (James Cameron's sci-fi-meets-New Age mysticism is an apt reference point for the moods these pieces conjure.) Unlike the songs that sit next to them, this material depends entirely on context. Listen to the release front-to-back, and they function as respectable palate cleansers and thematic signposts; but consider them individually, especially the tablas-and-chanting-heavy "Bija!," and they scan as too mundane, paling next to the ecstatically inventive material that surrounds them. To be fair, Cynic has skirted this line since Focus, which wasn't without its over-the-top moments; there, as with Carbon-Based Anatomy, though, the quality of the surrounding songs is too high for it to matter much.
Lofty as it is, the text Correia speaks in "Hieroglyph" resonates strongly with Cynic's creative ambitions. She tells of a soul who's been "blown to all corners of the universe… his whole being an explosion into infinity." When she observes, "No walls/ No specific personality," it's hard not to think of Masvidal and Reinert's fearless two-decade-plus quest to evolve, their willingness to cast off metal-oriented trappings that no longer suited their compositional needs. For a band that's come this far, maybe a metaphor involving the transgalactic dispersion of the soul really is appropriate. When you're functioning at as high a level as 2011-model Cynic, you're entitled to a bit of grandiosity.
